


Walk This Way

by OhNylL



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Human, Doctor Who References, Emotional Constipation, Hand Jobs, Lots of References to Different Things, M/M, Makeup Artist Stiles, Masturbation, Meddling Women, Model Derek, No Hale Fire, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-21 14:22:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1553516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhNylL/pseuds/OhNylL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles leaned over and looked down at the messy scrawl that was supposed to be Kali’s handwriting, “Ugh, I wish she’d take the time to write things out...instead of looking like she let an infant scribble on the paperwork.”</p>
<p>“Read the part that actually is legible.” She tapped her finger again, a little more impatient this time.</p>
<p>“Derek O. Ha-Oh hell no. No Lydia. No. Never.” </p>
<p>“You missed the meeting, you get the leftovers.”</p>
<p>“There is a reason he’s leftover,” Stiles hissed, “He’s the absolute worst person to work with. Like at the top of the list of people to avoid. He’s arrogant, cold, and sadistic, he makes small children cry and Life Insurance Agents cross the street to avoid him. Lydia, I can’t work with him.”</p>
<p>“You can and you will,”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> So, I finally decided that instead of waiting until I had it finished...I'm just going to post it in chapters. I started writing this before the 50th Doctor Who special *cough* ...here's to hopefully having this up to motivate me to get it finished quicker!
> 
> Also...I'm kind of in love with the Modelverse...like a lot, haha
> 
> And more tags will go up as the other parts go up.
> 
> <3

Most days Stiles was content to go about his daily life. He had a routine, one that wasn’t so easily disrupted, and he liked it that way; ten minute shower, breakfast of a vente Green Tea Latte and a chocolate-chip banana muffin, sit in morning rush hour traffic while eating the muffin in-between air drumming to White Snake on the radio, get to the studio and deal with dumber-than-a-rock models, meet Lydia for lunch to refuel on caffeine and chocolate, back to the studio for another couple of hours that consisted mostly of cleaning up after the dumbass models, evening rush hour traffic back to his apartment, supper of Thai take-out, hours of mind-numbing video games, bed. Wake up, rinse, and repeat. The repetitiveness of his schedule seemed to be the only thing keeping him sane about ninety percent of the time.

But every now and then, like this morning, there would be a hiccup in his stable routine. He’d lay in bed for an extra handful of minutes after his alarm went off, just staring at the ceiling and wondering how this became his life. Rolling over onto his side, Stiles buried his head underneath his pillow and pulled the duvet up over top of it. Mornings like these, where everything caught up to him and crashed against his chest like a giant wave overtaking a novice surfer, when he had to wonder how this was his life. When his alarm, to warn him that he was going to be late for work, if he didn’t leave right that instance, blared on the other side of the room he let out a groan and violently shoved the blankets to the foot of his bed and tossed his pillow at the offending light drifting in through his curtains. 

Stiles rolled and shifted until his legs were dangling off the edge of the bed. Slowly he pulled himself up into a slumped but sitting position and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. Running a hand through his hair, he grunted softly and grabbed his glasses off of the nightstand. Standing he shuffled over to the bathroom, barely getting his pyjama pants down before his phone started ringing, the chorus of Bitch by Plastiscines filling the silence of his apartment. 

“Fuck,” he huffed, half jogging back into his bedroom to retrieve the smart phone, 

“Where are you.” No hello or good morning, Stiles rolled his eyes,

“Good morning to you too, Lyds. And I’m...stuck in rush hour traffic? You know how it is this early in the morning.”

“Uh huh.” Stiles didn’t like the tone of her voice, he also didn’t like how his phone was echoing –he was going to have to go in and get that checked, “I do know, since I drove in it to get here.” Stiles didn’t even have time to blink before his bedroom door bumped against his dresser, making his Altier figuring shake. He let out a manly squeak as he grabbed for the blanket to cover himself, getting a whole head eye roll out of Lydia, “Oh please, it’s not like I haven’t seen a penis before.”

“But you’ve never seen mine and I’d like to keep it that way, unless-“

“Please, like you’d even be able to tickle me with that thing.”

Ouch. Stiles pouted and looked down, patting himself gently, “It’s okay, dude, she doesn’t mean it. She’s just jealous that her steroid pumping fiancé is slowly losing his ability to get it up and keep it there.”

Lydia raised an eyebrow, “Did you just call your penis, dude?”

Stiles shrugged, “Amongst other things. Now what brings you here, usually you try to avoid my juvenile abode.” He made air quotes around the word juvenile, please, just because he preferred video games and movies and decorating the walls of his apartment with a T-Rex and shark heads from Urban Outfitters; rather than paintings of landscapes he’d never go to (the mural of The Shire that took up a whole wall in the living room didn’t count) didn’t make him juvenile –just himself. Lydia rolled her eyes, again, and let out a sigh like it physically pained her to be there as much as he thought it did,

“You missed the meeting this morning. I was sent to get you.”

Now it was Stiles’ turn to raise an eyebrow, “Uh, Lyds, Princess, it’s not even seven o’clock yet,” the fact that he had to be at work for seven was beside the point, “How did I miss anything?”

Hands on her hips, Lydia pulled her lips into a thin line, “We set the time and date almost a week ago. We’re getting a bunch of new models and the meeting was to divvy them up between artists before they arrived today at eight.” 

“Oh joys,” he deadpanned, “no wonder I forgot and decided to sleep. I hate, hate, loath entirely, new models. They think they own the place and act like they’re all kings of the world. Jesus Christ, I’ll shoot them all, no that’d be too noticeable. I’ll slowly poison them by putting mercury in their lip balm.”

“Are you done.” She didn’t ask, as she examined her nails. Stiles let out a huff of protest but didn’t say anything else as she took the blanket and steered him back into the bathroom, “Take your shower and then we’re going to go for an actual breakfast and I’ll let you look at the portfolio of your next murder victim.”

“You sure know how to motivate people.” He grumbled as she kissed his cheek and made her way back towards the front of the apartment. 

Stiles took a quicker than normal shower, opting out of the usual morning Fun Times, because Lydia was in his living room and he had a feeling that she would just know what was the cause of a shower longer than four minutes. And that unnerved him. A lot. Stepping out of the shower he turned off the water and wrapped a towel around his waist. Walking out of the bathroom he poked his head into the main, open concept, area and shook his head as he was reminded why he was in love with her for nearly a decade. 

There, sitting on his couch with her feet propped up on the coffee table, between a carton of half eaten Pad Seu Yui and the copy of In Search of Lost Time, he borrowed from Allison (because he just HAD to read it), was Lydia Ginger-Princess Martin, dressed in Mafia print leggings, a white blouse, and a black blazer. Her hair pulled into a high ponytail with ringlets of bangs framing her face, make-up perfectly applied as it always had been even before cosmetic school, and bright red heels (to match her lips, nails, and purse) sitting on the floor underneath her legs. She held the Xbox controller like it was perfectly natural, of course Stiles had been pleasantly surprised in their first year of college when she kicked his ass at COD –something about having to play if she wanted to spend any actual time with Jackson and Danny in high school. At the moment, her eyebrows were furrowed and her lips drawn into a thin line as she tried to get Jason Brody to take pictures of dead pirate bodies, but she cursed when the last one proved to be MIA. 

“The last one’s a little further out of town, between a couple of palm trees.” He ducked back behind the corner when the TV remote flew towards his head, smacking against the wall with a loud crack as the back popped off and the batteries flew out,

“I didn’t ask for help I don’t need. Besides, I already have that one. Now go get dressed.” She didn’t even turn her head to look at him, choosing instead to narrow her eyes at him through the reflection in the framed poster of the Millennium Falcon’s blue prints that hung next to the entertainment stand. 

“Check behind the barrels right outside of town, I always miss that one when I do that mission!” He shouted, slamming the door to his bedroom as something hard connected with it. He didn’t want to know what she threw this time, though it sounded like it had stuck in the door so he was willing to bet it was one of her shoes.

Getting dressed in his favourite red, skinny-but-not-too-tight, jeans and a slightly baggy black t-shirt, Stiles grabbed his phone from where he’d dropped it on the floor and walked back out. Taking a quick glance at his door he was both relieved and distraught that one of Lydia’s heels wasn’t sticking out of his door like a bright red ninja-star. Whatever she had thrown was nowhere to be seen, but there wasn’t a hole or a dent in his door so he was going to just let it slide. Walking back into the living room, after retrieving his glasses from the bathroom, he flopped down on the couch beside her, 

“Don’t get too comfortable, we’re leaving as soon as Nero is finished analyzing the pictures.”

“God I love it when you let your Inner Gamer out. Keep talking like that and I’ll have to go take another shower.”

“We don’t have time, you’ll just have to walk around at half-mast until it goes away.” She gave him one of her overly sweet smiles as she turned off the console and slipped back into her heels, as she stood up and picked up her purse from besides the couch, “Well, I don’t know about you but, compromising drug rings always makes me just a tad bit peckish. Food?”

“Pancakes-”

“-With bacon and lots of pineapple-”

“-And a large kiwi-banana smoothie.”

Lydia let her head fall back as she laughed a real from the bottom of her stomach laugh, not one of her forced chuckles that she gave to people at the studio. Stiles grinned to match her smile as she linked her arm through his and lead him out of the apartment. He stopped momentarily put on his Converse and to grab his jacket. Putting his keys and wallet in his pockets, they stepped out and he locked up.

Xxx

They ate in silence, sitting in the booth of the diner across the street from the apartment they shared when they were in school. It was a cute little place that was only open until noon, but they served the best pancakes and bacon in the city, for cheap –and living on college student dime, Lydia’s parents sprung to cover the cost of the apartment but between the bills and school costs, they didn’t usually have a whole lot to spend on things like real food. Every morning before class the two of them would sit in the corner booth, order the same thing; two orders of pancakes and bacon with a large bowl of pineapple and a large kiwi-banana smoothie to split. Stiles and Lydia even knew the owner, a sweet elderly lady, by name and she knew theirs. At first she thought that Stiles and Lydia were dating, a snort of a laugh from Lydia and Stiles choking on a piece of pineapple, had her correcting herself shortly after –even mentioned that her grandsons, twins, Ethan and Aiden were their age and single. Stiles had politely declined and Lydia flashed her engagement ring. That had started a whole new conversation and the two of them had missed their classes that morning.

“Hey Stiles,” Stiles cringed inwardly, ignoring the look that Lydia was sending him around her fork, and looked up as the owner of the voice walked over, “Can I get you anything? More pineapple, a smoothie refill, my number?”

“Ethan...” Stiles sighed,

“You still single?”

“I’m married to my job, but thanks for asking.” He grumbled, frowning when Ethan and Lydia both laughed at him,

“I’ll pick you up after work then, catch a late movie, it’ll be fun.” Ethan left with a wink. Stiles narrowed his eyes at Lydia and pointed his fork, tipped with a piece of pancake,

“You did something.” Her smile confirmed it and he let out a loud, exaggerated, sigh, “Lydia-“

“No, Stiles, don’t Lydia me. All you do is work and play games with Scott until Allison pulls him to bed.” She reached across the table and took his empty hand in both of hers, rubbing the back of his hand, “I just...I know you get frustrated at work and you unwind with Scott at night, but babe, you need to get out and socialize outside of our lunch dates and Skype dinner with your Dad twice a week. I want to make sure you’re okay and happy.”

“Lydia, I’m fine. I am happy. I know I don’t act like it but I love my job, and I really do. The time I spend with Scott and Dad and you is all I need. Honest.”

“Just go hang out with Ethan tonight, for me?” 

Stiles sighed as Lydia gave him a soft look. He hated it when people worried about him, and over nothing at that. He shook his head in defeat, “Alright,” the smile that Lydia gave him was worth it, “but I’m not going to promise anything will actually come of it.”

Lydia waved a piece of bacon at him in a dismissive manner, “It’s okay if you two just stay friends. I’m not saying bone him, or be boned by him, I’m just saying go out and have fun. Que sera sera.”

Stiles chuckled, shaking his head again, “Alright, pleasantries aside, show me my new Ken doll.”

She laughed, pulling the smoothie back over to her and took a drink. Stiles leaned back in the booth, nibbling on a piece of bacon as he watched her route around in her purse for the papers that would tell him the basics about the model he would be working with for the next, however long the studio decided to keep them. 

He let his head fall back against the chair and closed his eyes. Thinking back to the days of college papers and putting makeup on mannequin heads. When him and Lydia would stay up late watching Gossip Girl on Netflix during the week and The Notebook on Sundays. Stiles wasn’t lying, when he said that he loved his job. He really did. Even though the whole thing had been based on a fluke of a bet he had lost against Jackson, all he had to do was apply to New York’s Aveda Institute when he sent off his university applications. He didn’t think he was going to get in. He thought even less about the fact that he wouldn’t have gotten into any of his first choice schools. In a long letter of apology Berkley informed him that, while he was in the top nine percent of applicants from across California, his lack of extracurricular activities were what kept him out. He finally fainted from shock when Lydia asked if he wanted to get an apartment together near the cosmetology school (later she informed him that she was still getting her degree from CalTech via correspondence). 

The sound of throat clearing broke him from his thoughts and he sat up, blinking sheepishly at the eyebrow raised in his direction, “Just thinking about you talking video games to me.”

Cue the eye roll, Lydia had moved their plates against the wall and had the folder spread out between them. She opened it and flipped it around so everything was right side up to him, and tapped on the box reserved for the general biography, “See that?”

Stiles leaned over and looked down at the messy scrawl that was supposed to be Kali’s handwriting, “Ugh, I wish she’d take the time to write things out...instead of looking like she let an infant scribble on the paperwork.”

“Read the part that actually is legible.” She tapped her finger again, a little more impatient this time.

“Derek O. Ha-Oh hell no. No Lydia. No. Never.” 

“You missed the meeting, you get the leftovers.”

“There is a reason he’s leftover,” Stiles hissed, “He’s the absolute worst person to work with. Like at the top of the list of people to avoid. He’s arrogant, cold, and sadistic, he makes small children cry and Life Insurance Agents cross the street to avoid him. Lydia, I can’t work with him.”

“You can and you will,” she leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest, “Maybe from now on you’ll pay more attention and attend early morning meetings.”

“My attendance record won’t matter after Derek grinds up my body and serves me as meatballs in the spaghetti he brings to the companies potluck next month.”

“Stop being so melodramatic, he’s not a cannibal.”

“You don’t know that. It’s not like anyone he’s eaten could let the rest of us know!” He flailed his arms, nearly knocking the last bit of smoothie all over the papers on the table, earning a glare from the strawberry-blonde woman across from him, 

“Stiles, I can tell you for a fact that he isn’t a cannibal.”

“And what makes you so certain?” He pouted, resting his elbows on the table as he sifted through the rest of the papers,

“Because this,” she dug around in her purse for another few seconds before pulling out a crinkled photo and slapped it on the table. Stiles choked on air, Lydia grinned, “his pearly whites and that incredible physic, he wouldn’t have any of that if he was a cannibal.”

“Yeah those pearly whites. Look at those canines. They’re so sharp they could easily rip through my soft pale flesh.” He hissed again and flicked the picture of the, shirtless, grinning man back at her. Lydia rolled her eyes as she picked the photo back up and clipped it to the inside of the folder, where hazel-green eyes stared up him over the edge of dark sunglasses. Derek Hale. This was the end of his career, he knew it.

Lydia sighed and shook her head as she packed the folder back into her purse, Stiles pouted, “You are going to work with him. You are going to like it. Or I am going to castrate you and use your own penis to plug your ass, and I’ll use crazy-glue to make sure it sticks.”

Stiles let out a groan as he head fell onto the table, rattling their plates, “Maybe I was wrong...Derek won’t be the death of me. You will.”

The smile she gave him did nothing to ease his nerves as she stood up and pulled him out of the chair, “Come on you big baby, we were supposed to be at the studio almost an hour ago.”

\----

“Hey loser, get up,” Derek groaned as the voice filtered around his room and then suddenly there was a burst of light in his dark room, “You have an appointment to keep this morning. Dad will kill me if you miss it. Or worse, end up being late.”

Derek turned his head and glared, it was short lived though when his eyes hit the harsh morning sun dead on, “Fuck, Laura...I don’t have to be there until eight.” Which is why he’d allowed himself to be dragged to the club with her last night, he hadn’t even been planning on drinking but it was easier to deal with Laura after the fourth Jäger-bomb.

“Well, baby bro, it’s quarter to seven and morning traffic is a pain in the ass.”

“You’re only five minutes older than me.” He growled, getting out of bed.

“Go shower, you stink and have glitter on your face. We’ll go get greasy food for breakfast and pump you full of caffeine, so that way you’ll at least be able to make monosyllabic comments.”

Derek rolled his eyes as he picked a pair of dark jeans up off of the floor, a once over and a deep breath told him that they were clean enough to wear again. Stepping into the shower he closed his eyes, letting the hot water spray over his face, and let out a gargled sigh. Faintly he could hear the sound of Laura rummaging around in the ensuite kitchen, what she was looking for he didn’t know. All he had in his cupboards were protein shakes and power bars for when he went to the gym, he also had a couple of, small, bottles of vodka left in the mini-fridge. If he wanted to eat he called room service. The perks of living in a hotel VIP suite.

The door to the bathroom opened and some of the steam escaped making Laura cough and gag on the heat, Derek looked over and didn’t bother holding back the smirk as she glared at him through the fogged up glass of the shower, “Derek where are you stashing the little chocolates?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know you don’t eat them, just hide and horde them. I want a couple.”

Derek shrugged, “I don’t have any. Gave them all to the kids who were staying with their parents in the suite below,” Laura narrowed her eyes and flushed the toilet, Derek barked out a laugh, “The thing about five star hotels, the plumbing isn’t connected!”

“I hope you drown!” She slammed the door, making them both wince at the noise.

With a sigh he reached up and changed the setting on the shower head from pulsing to massage and turned around to let the water pound against his back. He bit back a groan as he let his head rest against the surprisingly cool tiles of the stall wall. With as little movement as possible he grabbed the body wash and poured a handful in his palm, putting the bottle back he rubbed his hands together and started washing. Eyes closed he ran a hand over his chest and down his stomach. He paused for a minute, straining his ears to hear what Laura was doing but all he could hear was the TV faintly on the opposite side of the room. Outside world put on hold, the best way to get rid of a hangover was a good tug in the shower. Taking another, deep, breath he let his hand move further south. Feeling his abs tense and relax under his own fingers, Derek let out a shaky breath as he wrapped his fingers around his hardening cock. A sudden calm washed over his whole body, and he hadn’t even done anything yet, as he stood there holding himself with his right hand. His left hand pressed against the wall next to his forehead, taking most of his body’s weight as he leaned forward. Derek wanted to take his time, as he started slow, moving his hand smoothly in a familiar pattern, but he knew that he couldn’t. Not today. Biting his lip he gave himself a tight squeeze followed by a few sharp pulls. A noise outside the door had him speeding up, thrusting into his hand as he pumped harder. He could feel the tension start to coil in the pit of his stomach, with another sharp pull and a twist of his wrist he swiped his thumb across the slit and pressed down. With a choked groan, he bit harder on his lip, and came in short spurts. It wasn’t his finest solo-performance, but it did the trick and he felt the throbbing behind his eyes leave his body with each jerk of his hips. He let out a sigh and straightened. Pouring a little bit more body wash in his hands he scrubbed himself down before washing his hair. Turning off the water he stepped out and dried quickly. Sliding into his jeans he wrapped the towel around his shoulders and patted at his hair as he walked out to find a shirt. 

“Peter’s going to be here soon.” Laura called to him, waving her hand in a shooing manner as he walked in front of the television, “He said to wear something nice.”

He grunted in acknowledgement as he opened the closet and stared at the shirts hanging neatly. He reached in with one hand, tossing the towel to the floor with the other, and pulled out a white tank-top. Sliding it over his head he grabbed the soft spring-green button up shirt his mother had bought him, something about making his eyes pop. “What?” He frowned, catching Laura watching him in the mirror,

“Nothing really, just a little sorry that we don’t have time for breakfast. I was looking forward to seeing you bite the head off of some poor lost soul at a diner.” Derek rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to snap something witty back but was cut off by the door to the room opening and Peter strutting in. He was dressed in a sharp ash-grey suit, sunglasses pushed up to sit on top of his slicked back hair, 

“Ready to go, Nephew?”

“Even if I wasn’t we’d be leaving now,” Derek huffed as he pulled on his shoes and grabbed his leather jacket off the back of a chair, “We’re stopping for coffee.”

Peter rolled his eyes, “Fine.” He walked over and kissed the top of Laura’s head, earning a disgruntled growl as her show was interrupted, again, and didn’t wait to see if Derek was following as he left the room, heading back to the car waiting outside.

Shoving his wallet in his back pocket, Derek put his sunglasses on and opened the door, “Don’t make anyone cry on the first day!” Laura’s voice followed him out into the hall, the door closing to block out whatever else she was saying. 

Derek winced as he stepped out of the hotel and into the early morning light. His sunglasses helped to block out the worst of it but it was still too bright for his eyes, at least his headache was gone. He walked up to the black SUV that Peter was leaning against, and raised an eyebrow, “This is the car you rented, really?”

“If you don’t like it, you can take the bus or the subway,” he chuckled at the face Derek pulled, “I didn’t think so. Get in.”

Derek walked around the vehicle and got in the passenger side, barely getting his seatbelt on before Peter was starting the engine and pulling out of the drop-off zone. 

Xxx

After a short trip through a Starbuck’s drive thru, Derek was sipping on the black liquid gold of his coffee and ignoring the muttered curses coming from his uncle as they crawled along the in the morning traffic.

“I fucking hate New York,” Peter growled, honking at a cyclist who weaved out in front of them as he was about to inch his way forward, “I don’t supposed you want to reconsider taking the contract from the Argents.”

Derek snorted, “You were the one who told me to turn it down because the Argent’s couldn’t be trusted, that they actually treat their models like shit, and –oh yeah, Chris is a backstabbing, spineless, coward who is terrified of his father.”

“Shut up and drink your coffee,” the growl sounded more like a perturbed huff and Peter rubbed his eyes. He reached over to change the station and blinked as he looked between the clock and a small diner about ten feet away from them, “See that,” he pointed and Derek turned his head to see what that was, “The ginger in the tight pants, that’s Lydia Martin. Head of HR at Demon Wolf’s Studio.”

Demon Wolf’s Studio, Derek wasn’t sure what Deucalion had been on when he came up with the name of his agency. He actually found it rather amusing that a blind man was the founder and CEO of such a famous modeling company. Derek knew that Deucalion hadn’t always been blind, that he himself had once been a very hot topic –being in spreads that went from innocent Sears’ magazines to Play Girl centerfold. There was a theory on the internet that Laura had shown him once, that the company was called ‘Demon’ because it was impossible to have that many drop-dead gorgeous people in one place without some deal made somewhere along the way, and ‘Wolf’ came from Deucalion’s personality and that of his staff as well. 

Derek raised an eyebrow as he watched the petit woman walk out of the way of the door and turn to wait for someone with her hands crossed over her chest, “Who’s that with her?” he asked as a tall, lanky, guy walked out and the two of them walked towards a beat up looking Jeep together. Peter shrugged his shoulders,

“It’s not Jackson that much is for certain.” 

Jackson Whitmore, Lydia Martin’s long time fiancé to the point that everyone had stopped asking when the wedding was and simply accepted that they were probably just going to stay engaged forever. He didn’t really blame either of them. From what he heard about Jackson from Laura, who worked beside him on films from time to time, he was a complete ass and the King of Doucheland. No one really said anything better about Lydia. She was a demanding little minx, though maybe that’s why they had been together since they were sixteen. Jackson may have the lead on the bullshit meter but Lydia didn’t put up with any of it and could keep him in his place. Derek shook his head and frowned slightly, “Shouldn’t she be at the studio already? Deucalion said that they were having a meeting this morning about assigning all the new models to assistants and that’s why I didn’t have to be there until eight,” he looked down at the radio, “Which it’s twenty past.”

“Don’t worry about the time, I was talking to Deucalion while I was waiting for you to come downstairs, we’ll probably still end up being one of the first people there.”

Derek felt his nose wrinkle slightly. His father had installed an importance for being on time at an early age. When he’d been in school it was almost an obsession, being early, to the point that if he even thought he was going to be a few minutes late he’d start feeling nauseous. Thankfully that had calmed down over the years of having Peter as his agent. Peter shared the same passion for punctuation as his brother-in-law, so if he said they had plenty of time then that was all Derek needed to know.

After the better part of an hour crawled by, the SUV pulled into the parking lot of a tall building. Derek raised an eyebrow, the building was all windows on the first two floors, then a floor with no windows at all, the other two top floors were also all window. Derek got out of the SUV and looked around. He saw the Jeep that he’d watched Lydia get into earlier parked close to the door, a reserved parking space with a nameplate. As he and Peter walked passed it, heading in the building, he glanced back to catch the name, Väinämöinen Stilinski. Alright then.

“...cannibal Lydia, I stick by it.”

“If you keep going on about it I’m going to ask Deuc if we can do a Hannibal Lector shoot. With him as Hannibal.”

“Oh my god, Lyds, you can’t just cast a cannibal as Hannibal! Then he’ll know we’re on to him and go from contemplating eating me to actually eating all of us!”

Derek cast a sidelong glance at his uncle, ‘what the fuck’ clearly written across his face as he raised both eyebrows. Peter shook his head and walked up to the desk where a shaggy-haired blond was sitting and playing Fruit Ninja on his iPod, he sighed without even looking up,

“Good morning, do you have an appointment?”

“Isaac, don’t-“ came a hiss that turned into a pained grunt, “Ouch. Fuck. Bitch. I hate you.”

The blond, Isaac, chuckled and finally looked up at Peter and Derek with a small grin, “Ignore them, they’re always like this.” Derek raised an eyebrow as he looked over at the other two people standing behind the desk. 

“You love me,” was the dismissive reply as Lydia Martin walked to the other side of the desk and extended a manicured hand to Peter, “Mr. Hale, I presume?” There was no presuming about it, Derek and Peter both knew that she knew exactly who they were. Peter shook her hand with a charming smile, and kissed the back of her hand earning a pinched smile. Lydia took her hand back and waved a folder at the lanky guy, “Stiles, go get ready. Deuc wants to talk to you about this morning.”

Stiles took the folder from her and grumbled, “I don’t, for the record, haven’t since high school.” He was pointedly ignoring Derek, who found the whole thing rather amusing. He watched as the young man walk away, the jeans hugging just enough to show how lean and long his legs were but still left plenty for the imagination. 

“Make sure you ask him about the Hannibal shoot,” Lydia called after him, earning herself a raised middle finger as the elevator doors closed. With a soft chuckle she turned back to Peter and Derek, a wicked smile on her lips, “Follow me, boys, I’ll give you the grand tour of DWS.”

\----

Stiles let his head bang against the side of the elevator, after the doors had fully closed and the music started playing. He knew there were cameras, and that Boyd could see him from his place in the security offices, but he didn’t care. Derek Hale. Derek I-Eat-Small-Children-For-Fun Hale was in his place of work, right now. He knew that it was coming, obviously, since he was supposed to be the model’s new makeup artist but that didn’t mean he was going to be happy about it. Nope, he was going to complain about it for the rest of his life and he was going to make sure that Deucalion and Lydia suffered for it. Leftovers his ass, Stiles snorted, he was pretty sure the two of them did it on purpose. What that purpose was he wasn’t sure of –besides making Stiles life miserable. They both knew that Stiles hated the Hales ever since he was Laura’s makeup artist when she played a werewolf on some MTV show a few years back. He’d done an amazing job but Laura had been the biggest bitch ever, and a bigger drama queen than Jackson. Interviews and articles about Derek hadn’t done anything to even hint that he was different from his sister, or his crazy father, or creepy-ass uncle. 

The only thing the Hales had going for them were their looks, because they all lacked personalities that would actually do them any good when dealing with real humans. Laura was a bombshell, and for someone the same age as Stiles’ dad –Peter didn’t look half bad either, and of course Derek was insanely attractive as well. It must be all the virgin blood they drank under the full moon while dancing around a bonfire that cooked the poor soul who dared sell a picture of them to Enquire. That was it, that was the secret to their eternal youth. They were a family of cannibals. And Lydia had practically announced that they knew the Hales’ secret by mentioning Hannibal Lector. Suddenly Stiles feared for her safety. 

Stiles jumped when the elevator dinged and the door slid open into Deucalion’s office. 

“Good morning, Väinämöinen, so glad of you to finally join us.”

Stiles winced, he knew he was in trouble if Deucalion was using his given name. Normally, even if he was in trouble, he would put up a fuss about the name being used but Deuc was one of the few people who could actually pronounce it –which made it that much worse when it was being used to scold him. It made him feel like a small child getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar right before supper, or out of bed after being sent to sleep hours ago, “Heeeey, Deuc, buddy-bossman.”

Deucalion sighed as he turned to face Stiles, leather chair cracking slightly under the weight of him leaning back. His elbows on the armrests, fingers steepled like a Bond villain as he tapped his chin, “You weren’t at the meeting this morning.”

“No, I...forgot to change my alarm.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Deucalion waved his hand and then pointed at one of the leather chairs in front of his desk, “Sit. We have much to discuss about upcoming events. You’re going to have your hands full.”

“Why do I get the feeling I’m not being yelled at...because I got saddled with Derek Hale,” Deucalion gave him a wolfish grin and Stiles rolled his eyes as he flopped into the seat, letting the folder drop on the desk, “Of course. I knew it wasn’t just a matter of him being leftover. You and Lydia totally passed him to me as punishment.”

“Oh Stiles, don’t make it seem like working with him is going to be such a hardship. Have you seen the young man?”

“Have you?” Stiles shot back, not even the slightest bit worried about the blind joke, especially when Deucalion let out a rumble of a laugh, “So what kind of crap is in the line up?”

With a sigh Deucalion leaned back in his seat and pulled open one of the desk drawers. Stiles watched, just as fascinated as the first time he sat across from the older man and watched him work. Deucalion rummaged around in the desk until he found what he was looking for. Stiles suspected that Deuc had some kind of system that let him know what was where, and he never ceased to amaze him just how self sufficient the blind man was. Stiles was pretty sure the only thing the man had help for was driving, and even then it wouldn’t have been a shock if Deucalion drove himself around. 

A large, purple, three-ringed binder was dropped on the desk. Stiles’ jaw dropped, “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, Stiles, this is everything for the next two weeks,” Deucalion kept his voice calm and even, Stiles wasn’t sure if he was just pulling his leg or if his boss was being dead serious. It could quite easily go both ways. Deucalion shook his head and opened the binder, feeling along the sides until he found the tab he wanted and flipped the pages over, “Be reasonable, do you know how much work that would be for me if I had to give you all of that?”

“I figured you’d just get Kali to do it.”

Deucalion let out a snort of a laugh, “That woman doesn’t have the eye for this kind of work, if you know what I mean.”

Stiles laughed, “Yeah, I do. The last time she organized my folder for the week I ended up with four shoots scheduled at the same time. With two models, that I’d never heard of before.” Stiles picked up the small packet of papers that Deucalion slid across the desk and thumbed through them, “Doctor Who?”

He was met with a grin that matched his own, “Yes. With the 50th Special happening in a couple of months, we’ve been asked to put together a spread for one of the local Science Fiction magazines when they found out that Derek Hale was signing a contract with us. They want him placed as The Doctor.”

Stiles nearly fell out of his chair, choking on air, “No. No he can’t be The Doctor.”

“And why not?”

“Because...Derek isn’t Doctor material. He’s more...Sontaran, in personality, you know?”

Deucalion’s shoulders shook as he held in another laugh, he took his sunglasses off and placed them on the desk as he leaned forward, “Why do I get the feeling you want to make him look like a potato...”

“An ugly potato,” Stiles nodded, pouting and furrowing his brows as Deucalion let a few snorts escape him, “Make him just as pretty on the outside as the inside.”

He couldn’t hold it in any longer. Deucalion leaned back in his chair and let out a howl of laughter, no doubt picturing Derek Hale with his makeup all done and looking like a Sontaran. Stiles was miffed, he thought that it was a good idea. Derek seemed to fit the ‘destroy now kill later’ but then again, “Or maybe a Dalek,” because of Derek’s lack of emotion or human soul. Deucalion’s laughter only grew louder and a few more seconds Stiles found himself laughing, just as hard, along with the older man. Neither of them heard the elevator ding,

“This is...” Lydia’s voice trailed off as she stepped out of the elevator, followed closely by their two guests. She chuckled softly and turned to look at Derek and Peter, snickering slightly. Both Hales had identical expressions of one raised eyebrow and the corner of their upper lip quirked down. She waved a hand to get their attention, “This is actually quite normal,” she cleared her throat and raised her voice, “Deuc, are you going to be alright?”

Deucalion calmed down and looked over Stiles shoulder, making him stop mid-laugh and frown, “I’ll live,” he closed the binder and put it back in the drawer before wiping his eyes with his sleeve and placing his glasses back on his face, “I like the way you think, but no, the magazine wants him in the place of The Doctor.”

That seemed to snap Stiles over whatever stupor he’d suddenly found himself in. That was the thing about pictures, they didn’t exactly give you the whole...well, picture. He hadn’t gotten a good look at Derek down in the lobby, but now that he actually saw him. Fuck. Stiles knew that Derek was gorgeous it was just in the Hale genetic code to be inhumanly beautiful, but Derek seemed to be in a league all on his own. Stiles found himself wanting to make eye contact just so he could see what colour Derek’s eyes were, because from his point of view there was like six different colours. Instead he found himself counting off all the unattractive things about the man. Deucalion might be blind, but he would defiantly bring up Stiles getting an erection in his office at all the studio’s functions. For starters that scowl wasn’t attractive, neither was the death glare he was sending Stiles. Stiles didn’t even pretend to be effected by it. When one lived with Lydia Martin and dealt with Jackson on a daily-ish basis, one became immune to all forms of eye-communication. Except for Scott and Isaac’s puppy-eyes, seriously those things could stop wars.

Stiles jumped and looked over, he did not squeak, when Deucalion lifted and dropped the packet of paper on the desk, “Yeah. Right. Going to be ruining The Doctor for millions of fans everywhere. Gotcha.”

“Just go and get your station set up, there’s going to be a regular clothing photo-shoot at noon, Matt’s coming in a little later to set up his cameras in Studio 4.”

“Oh yay. First I get the best model ever to play dressup with and then I get to deal with my favourite person ever.” Stiles voice couldn’t get anymore flat if he tried, grumbling when Deuc and Lydia chuckled at his obvious disdain for the world. He threw his hands up in the air, grabbing the paper before turning around, “I hate all of you. I quit.”

“I’m sure you can come up with a better threat than that. We both know you’re too lazy to complete all the necessary paperwork that involves. Oh, and Stiles,” Stiles paused and looked back over his shoulder when the elevator doors dinged open, “The Hannibal Lector photo-shoot will be taking place after the Doctor Who.” Deucalion’s grin made it hard to tell if he was joking or being serious.

“Fuck all of you.” Stiles grumbled, getting in the elevator and smashed the button for the third floor.

“If it makes you feel better, you get to dress Erica up in Faire Frou Frou!” Lydia called after him, getting another middle finger for her efforts.

\----

To say that the morning was moving slow would be giving it a speed that it didn’t have. Derek felt the headache from this morning creep back behind his eyes as the fluorescent lighting in the hallways buzzed over top of them as he and Peter walked alongside Lydia, as she showed them around the building.

It wasn’t quite as big as he had originally thought, it was just spaced strangely. The first floor, had the front desk, the security office, and a gym, “No one really uses it. The space is mostly rented to personal trainers and university students.” Lydia said in an offhand manner as she pointed in its direction at the end of the hall. When they stepped into the elevator she pressed the button for the fourth floor,

“Aren’t you going to show us the floors in order?” Peter asked with a raised eyebrow,

Lydia shook her head, “The second floor is just a handful of offices that Deucalion rents out. They aren’t actually apart of DWS, well most of them aren’t. Our accounting office is on that floor, boring stuff.” The doors pinged and slid open silently, “And the third floor is where all the photo-shoots take place, we’re going there last because everyone’s in a rush this time of day. You’ll just get in their way.” She tossed them a sweet smile over the back of her shoulder. Walking through the halls, she pointed out the cafeteria, lounge, a library, a computer lab that was supposed to be used for editing photos but was mostly used for Facebook, and, at the end, a smaller gym that was there for the models of DWS, “Alright, let’s go and properly introduce you to Deucalion.”

The three of them stepped back into the elevator and Lydia pressed the button for the fifth and final floor. When the elevator pulled up, Derek could hear the muffled voices of a heated conversation and wondered momentarily if they weren’t stepping in on the middle of a meeting. He, vaguely, remembered that the lanky guy from the lobby had been sent up to see Deucalion but Derek figured they would have been finished by now. There was a slight pause just before the doors opened that was suddenly filled with a deep roar of laughter.

Sitting in a tall-backed leather chair, behind a large wooden desk, was Deucalion doubled nearly in half and laughing. Derek raised an eyebrow and shared a look with Peter. He was remembering all the stories that his father had told him about the blond ex-model-gone-business mogul, but none of the horror stories of his short temper and wicked sharp tongue seemed to be truthful in light of the shaking shoulders as Deucalion slowly raised his head off of his desk. Deucalion cleared his throat as he, slowly, composed himself when he seemingly caught sight of them. Lydia reassured them that this was normal behaviour, and Derek had to wonder if it was an everyday occurrence or simply because of the person he was talking to. The young man in the other chair, Stiles they called him, stopped laughing the moment his eyes landed on Derek. Derek raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t say anything. Neither did Peter or Lydia, until Stiles was making his way onto the elevator and flipped her off for the second time that morning. 

Deucalion sighed softly, pulling their attention back to him, as he gestured to the two chairs opposite of his. Derek and Peter walked over and sat, Lydia dropped a file on Deucalion’s desk,

“These are the reviews for the Hugo Boss shoot, and a request for some cologne ad.”

“Thank you, Lydia. You can go do whatever it is you’d rather be doing than babysitting these two. I can handle them from here.” Derek frowned and Peter raised an eyebrow, looking on the verge of saying something both Hales would regret later, when Deucalion raised a hand, “No one was actually babysitting you, calm down so we can get business underway.”

“Of course,” Peter huffed. “About Derek’s contract-“

“Is such a ridiculous thing, don’t you think?” Deucalion leaned back in his seat, looking between Derek and Peter, who looked baffled,

“What do you mean, ridiculous?”

“I mean, Peter, that Derek’s twenty-three now and should be dealing with these things on his own. Don’t you agree, Derek?”

Derek shifted in his seat, the leather creaking under the movement, “Uh, well, Peter’s been doing a good job of handling it my whole career. Obviously or we wouldn’t be sitting across from you right now.”

“Ah yes, the Argent’s deal. Well I’m sure you’re aware that it was more because of an old grudge rather than the success of your career that you were made to turn down their small sum of money.”

“I-“

“The main point here, Deucalion, is that I’ve done nothing but made the right choices for him. As I have done with Laura when she was modeling.”

“Actually, Peter, the main point here is that I am sure Derek would like to earn all of the money he’ll be making and not a significantly reduced amount because the legality of having an agent. Yes, you have done a wonderful job making sure your niece and nephew have outstanding portfolios and that makes them capable of going nearly everywhere and doing anything in the entertainment industry. However, they’re adults now not teenagers, it’s about time to give up your hold on Derek.” Deucalion leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and folded his hands together. He was staring right at Peter, looking at him over the rim of his glasses. Derek wasn’t sure how Deuc knew that Peter was there, or how Peter was able to keep up the staring contest. Derek thought it was pretty obvious who the winner there was, like a cat Deucalion didn’t blink even once. They held each other’s gaze for almost two minutes of awkward silence before Peter growled and stood up,

“Fine,” he stood, pausing to glance over at Derek, “If you need a ride back to the hotel, call Laura.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, “Where are you going?”

“I told you. I hate New York,” Peter set a hand on Derek’s shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze, “Don’t worry, if you need me for anything just call and I’ll catch the first plane back out.”

The silence that followed Peter leaving wasn’t exactly awkward but it wasn’t comfortable either. Derek stared out the large window behind the desk and sighed softly. The sun was already high in the sky and it was only a little past ten in the morning. It was going to be a, very, long day if time kept creeping by as it was. Derek leaned back in the chair and let out another sigh as he stared up at the ceiling. Deucalion was rooting around in one of the drawers; looking for the papers Derek would need to sign no doubt, and wasn’t paying him any attention –which was fine by Derek. It left him alone to his thoughts, not that he had very many this early in the morning. He closed his eyes and his thoughts drifted to pale skin and lanky limbs. A small frown found its way to Derek’s face, as he thought about all the daggers that had been sent his way from Stiles. He’d only been there for little more than an hour, less of that spent in Stiles presence, and hadn’t even talked to him. Whatever it was he’d done to aggravate the younger man, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t exactly care to find out either. It wasn’t like he was going to be seeing much of him. 

The sound of a drawer closing brought him back out and he sat up, looking over at the stack of paper on the desk with a raised eyebrow, “Um, isn’t that a bit much?”

Deucalion chuckled, “Nonsense, and I apologize for shooing your uncle out of my building but we don’t work on strict contracts like he’s used to. He wouldn’t have been able to make any money without taking it directly from your paycheck.” Not that Peter hadn’t in the past, Derek knew how the contracts he signed worked. He made x amount of money and Peter took x amount off the top, the rest was deposited in Derek’s bank account. He made so much though, on average, that he never bothered to care. 

Derek raised an eyebrow, “Then how exactly-“

“It’s slightly like commission. You do a job, you get paid. Think of it like a month-to-month lease on an apartment instead of a fixed three year contract for a new cell phone,” Derek nodded slowly, Deucalion continued, “You only sign on for the jobs you want to do with us. As opposed to say, the Argents, who would make you sign a contract that states you’re basically their fashion slave and whatever they want you to do you’ll do.”

“That, actually makes a lot of sense.” Derek knew how full contracts worked, he’d just gotten out of one that had him working nothing but sport car and motorcycle ads for the last two years, if he never sat on another motorcycle again it would be too soon. He shifted at the grin that Deucalion sent him,

“On that note, however, I do have one giant favor to ask of you. Well, two actually.”

“Uh...okay?” he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to approach this but he wasn’t about to tell his, technically, new boss that he wasn’t going to be doing any jobs with them. It was why he was there after all.

“One of the Sci-Fi magazines covering the 50th Special of Doctor Who caught wind of you switching to our agency and personally requested for you to pose as The Doctor in their spread. Also, one of our models hasn’t shown up yet and the underwear shoot starts in forty-five minutes, would you be able to cover –you’ll get paid for it instead of him, of course.”

Derek blinked, wow, okay. He nodded slowly, “I-yeah I will cover for him,” it wasn’t like he hadn’t modeled underwear before. Slip on a pair, get his abs bronzed, a few camera shots and he was done. Easy work. As for the Doctor Who bit, “I’m not exactly...knowledgeable on the subject, uh the Science Fiction thing...not Doctor Who, anyway.”

Deucalion waved a hand at him, “No worries. You’ll be fine. Sign these two,” he slid two small stacks of paper towards Derek and handed him a pen before leaning over and pressing a button on the intercom, “Kali, be a darling and come fetch Derek Hale and show him to Station Six.”

There was a short pause as Derek filled out the paperwork before the intercom buzzed and a female voice purred over the slight static, “Of course, Deuc, I still can’t believe Stilinski agreed to this.” Deucalion didn’t bother answering her, taking the papers back as they were handed to him and for a moment Derek wondered if he was actually blind and not just legally. 

A few more minutes passed in a more comfortable silence before the familiar ding of the elevator sounded and a tall, dark skinned, woman stepped into the office. She was wearing skin tight, charcoal grey, leggings and a deep red tank-top with matching red shoes. What was it with the power holding women and red? Derek shook his head as she looked him over like a meal and grinned,

“Derek,” she purred, holding out her hand. He took it and they shook, “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Kali, Manager of Operations. Let’s go and get you ready for the photo shoot, you can meet everyone at lunch.”

“Alright,” Derek stood up and looked back at Deucalion, who just waved the two of them off after presumably sharing a look with Kali. This place, or at least the people here, confused Derek to no end –and he wasn’t even half way through his makeshift first day. He was starting to wish he had left with his uncle, “Lead the way.”

Kali gave him a smile full of teeth and brought him down to the third floor. 

It was everything, and nothing at all like Derek had expected it to be. The entire floor was one huge open space, with columns placed in a precise manner to support the floor above it. Curtains were placed between the columns to separate the different work stations, a simple sign taped to every other column was all that indicated which station a photographer was working at. Walking by Derek noticed that the curtains also served to change the size of the space being used depending on what the subject was. They stopped at the far wall, the makeup and costume wall, which was divided into sections by oriental styled shoji wall-dividers –though they too only had paper signs indicating which station was whose. Kali lead him to number six. She leaned against the divider and waited for the makeup artist between them to notice her,

“...and then Deuc was all ‘Have you seen him?’ and I was just like, uh, have you?” There was a high, female, laugh and a male chuckle before he continued talking, “I just. Ugh. I don’t want to work with him.”

“I’m sure it won’t be all that bad. But enough about that I want to know about your date tonight.”

Kali’s eyebrow rose and she stepped fully into the station, “It’s about time you got yourself a date.”

A groan, “I-I don’t, that depends on how you define ‘date’.”

Both women, and Derek, watched him with a raised eyebrow. The blonde, now that Derek had moved to see them all –and recognized Stiles with an inward wince, rolled her eyes and adjusted the snow-white cotton robe she was wearing, most likely overtop whatever it was she was doing her photo-shoot in, “Two people going to dinner and a movie and probably going to have sex afterwards.”

“Two people who-god,” Stiles whined, “It’s not...really-“

Kali laughed and pinched Stiles’ cheek, earning her a half-hearted swat and a glare, “You make it sound like Ethan has the Black Plague or something.”

Stiles pointed the eyeliner brush at her accusingly before looking between Kali and Erica, a look of realization and horror crossing his face before he steeled it into a hard glare at both, grinning, women, “You. You’re all in on it aren’t you. You and Lydia.”

“Guilty,” they both chimed in a singsong voice. Kali leaned over and ruffled his hair before moving to head out again,

“Oh, and don’t forget to handle Derek. He’s going to be taking Danny’s place with Erica in the shoot.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow and blinked. Derek could tell the exact moment his mood turned from playfully upset to just downright sour, “Of course,” he huffed at the same time   
Erica gleefully said “This is going to be so much fun!”

Stiles sighed and went to get another chair, placing it next to Erica’s, “I don’t suppose they told you what you’re wearing.”

“No, they didn’t.” Derek handed him the paper with the information about the shoot. He hadn’t been able to get anything out of it, but then again he’d never worked with an agency that operated like DWS before. Stiles took the paper and Derek sat down. 

“Oh. My. Fuck. Really Deuc...” Stiles hissed under his breath, getting a raised eyebrow from both models, “I just...fuck, okay, give me a minute to go and find your lingerie.” He slapped the paper on the vanity that held a ridiculous amount of makeup and nearly stormed off towards the far corner of the wall. 

“So, Derek Hale,” Erica smiled as she leaned over, elbow on the arm of her chair and chin resting on her palm, “I didn’t think we’d be working together so soon.”

“I actually wasn’t planning on starting today. It was just supposed to be an introduction meeting with Deucalion.” He raised an eyebrow at the predatory grin she was giving him, as she raked her eyes over his body. It’s nothing he hadn’t been on the receiving end of before, but it was a little awkward when he was sitting down and she was, from what he could piece together, next to naked. 

“Life around here just got a whole lot more entertaining, that’s for sure.” He didn’t get a chance to ask her what she meant because Stiles was coming back holding a pair of black, sheer, pyjama bottoms with a small, solid, black pair of underwear. He raised an eyebrow,

“What the hell is that.”

“That,” Stiles said dropping it in his lap and going back to hovering over the makeup table, glancing back at Derek every now and then, “Is what you’re going to be wearing. So, you should totally change while I figure out a colour scheme to match Erica.”

Derek stood up and looked around for the changing station. Erica smiled sweetly,

“If you’re looking for the dressing room, you’re standing in it.” He turned to her with both eyebrows raised. What the hell kind of place was this. She kept a straight face, but the snort from Stiles broke her and she laughed, “I’m kidding! Red curtains at the end of the dividers.”

Derek glared at both of them as they continued to laugh and made his way to the end of the wall. There were four red curtains suspended from the ceiling spaced roughly a foot apart and on a circular ring, beside them were racks and racks of costumes and high end designer clothing. Derek sighed as he pulled a curtain around him and glanced at the cloth in his hands. There wasn’t much to these at all, oh well it wasn’t the first time his crotch had been the focal point of a photograph and if Erica was in the pictures with him as well then it wasn’t like he was going to be the focus anyway. 

Quickly stripping down he changed and folded his clothes, carrying them back to station six with him. Stiles pointed to a small shelving unit underneath the table, it had ten compartments with a few of them empty, 

“You can put your clothes and things there. This is my space, so no one is going to touch them.”

“Alright,” he set his clothes in one of the compartments and his shoes in another. Standing up he turned to walk back to his seat and caught sight of Erica, as she took off the robe. She was wearing a baby-doll slip that hugged her curves in all the right places. It was black sheer, like Derek’s pants, on the sides and Italian 'invisible' blush tulle cups with French Leavers lace that gave it a 'nearly naked’ appearance, in the center. Erica cleared her throat, Derek blinked once before looking away with a small flush creeping on the back of his neck, “You look good.”

Erica laughed, Stiles rolled his eyes, “Of course I look good. But it’s nice to know you think so too, it makes things easier when both people enjoy what they see.” She kissed Stiles’ cheek, “I’m going to get in place.”

“Don’t fuck with your hair while you’re waiting, because I am not fixing it again.” Stiles called after her before facing Derek, holding a small brush that was flecked with dark green, “Now hold still and don’t blink.”

\----

It was pain, it was torture, it was the worst week of Stiles’ life. By the time Friday crawled up into the horizon he let out a loud yawn and leaned back in the chair in front of his table. He stretched and cracked his shoulders, letting out a satisfied sigh, and smiled softly at nothing. A smile that disappeared as soon as Derek came in from around the corner, dressed back in his tight jeans and even tighter t-shirt. Like Christ. Stiles rolled his eyes and looked at the space of wall between the mirror and table when Derek bent over to retrieve his sneakers. Stiles pretended that he didn’t see Derek’s ass sticking in the air as he cleared his throat, “Monday...you need to shave, for Monday.”

Derek frowned, rubbing his seemingly permanent four-day scruff of stubble –that Stiles suspected he kept trimmed like that on purpose, it made Derek look older without looking older, “Why do I need to shave?”

“Wh-Why?!” Stiles flailed, nearly knocking half of his makeup supply on the floor, “Because The Doctor doesn’t have facial hair, that’s why. God, don’t you know anything!” Derek’s frown deepened and his eyebrows furrowed together, Stiles threw his arms up in exasperation, “You know absolutely dick-fuck all about Doctor Who. Goddamnit, I told them you weren’t Doctor material. Maybe next time Deuc will actually listen to me when I know what the fuck I’m talking about, which is all the fucking time –by the way.”

“I’m not saying I won’t shave, I just wanted to know why. It’s not often people tell me to.”

Stiles made a disgruntled noise, like he wanted to agree that Derek looked better with the stubble but didn’t actually want to give the compliment. Instead, Stiles rolled his eyes and grabbed his backpack up off of the floor, “Do the world a favor and watch a handful of episodes with Chris Eccleston’s Doctor over the weekend. At least, with that, you’ll have some inkling of what you’re doing and where the photo-shoot is going.”

Derek shrugged into his leather jacket, “I don’t see what your fuss is all about. It’s just a photo-shoot.” To Derek, it was just another job. He’d get in costume and do what the photographer told him too. However, when Stiles jaw dropped, he knew he’d said the wrong thing. Not that he could focus on the rant that was coming out of that mouth. Derek shook his head before he thought any more about it while he was still in public, 

“...so it’s not just a photo-shoot!”

“Alright, I get it. Calm down.”

Stiles eyed him before pushing passed Derek. His dramatic stomping was in vain when both of them had to wait for the same elevator. Stiles momentarily contemplated taking the stairs but they were emergency only and he didn’t want Boyd or Ennis on him about setting off the alarm just to escape three awkward seconds in a small, enclosed, space with Derek Is-An-Uncultured-Swine Hale. 

After waving a good-night to Isaac, Stiles crossed over to his Jeep and opened the back, “What are you doing?”

Stiles jumped when Derek’s voice came from behind him. God this guy just couldn’t get a hint. He sighed and tossed his bag in before slamming the hutch closed, “I am going home.”

“I know that but,” He looked at the nameplate and then back to Stiles with a raised eyebrow. Stiles rolled his eyes. God those eyebrows. It had only been a week, but he already hated those perfect, so expressive, eyebrows. 

“But what, Derek? I don’t know about you but standing in the parking lot, talking to you, is not how I want to spend my night.”

“That’s not your car.” Derek sounded legitimately confused and his eyebrows went from ‘what-the-hell’ to ‘what-the-fuck’ when Stiles started laughing,

“Oh my god you...yes, this is my Jeep.”

“Then you’re parking in someone else’s spot.”

“No, this is my spot. I earned it all on my own and everything,” Stiles opened the driver side door, “Something that came with becoming Head Makeup Artist...” he trailed off, noticing the pained look on Derek’s face as he tried to figure things out on his own –or maybe he was constipated, “Look, my name is Väinämöinen, but since no one outside of my Dad and Deucalion can pronounce it, I go by Stiles. Have since I was a little kid.” 

Derek didn’t look like he was going to say anything, and stopped looking like he was going to spontaneously combust –though Stiles had to wonder if it really would have been all that spontaneous, given the mix of pained and confused expressions Derek had been making. Stiles nodded and slid into his Jeep, closing the door, “Bye, Derek.”

“Yeah. Bye...Stiles.”

Xxx

Stiles unlocked the door to his apartment and got in with just enough time to kick off his sneakers before his phone started ringing, “Scott, buddy, you have some freaky bro-is-home-fu going on right now you know that right?”

“Just get in?” Came the cheeky reply from the other end,

“Like two seconds ago.”

“Well hurry up and get on, Allison’s out with her dad tonight so we’ve got at least four hours worth of game time.”

“Talk to you in a few.” He hung up, plugging the charger into the wall and hooked his phone up, and tossed his bag next to the couch. Grabbing the headset from the entertainment stand, he put them on and turned on his Xbox. There was a beat of silence, before a ping and Scallison4Life has logged on to Xbox Live flashed across the bottom of the television, “You there bro?”

Another short pause, broken by, “Dude, I just. Ouch,” Scott whined on the other end of the connection, “I totally just skewered my toe on the coffee table.”

“Still playing, or are you going to the hospital?”

“I’ll live, just gonna go grab some ice.”

Stiles chuckled, “Alright, I’m going to get some snackage while you’re doing that.” 

These were the nights that Stiles lived for. Sitting on the couch with a bowl of Doritos, playing Xbox, and being able to pretend that he didn’t live on the other side of the country from his best friend. It was nice and relaxing and Lydia be damned, he didn’t need to go on awkward, stress filled, dates with Ethan to be happy. He just needed bro-time.

“Okay, dude, what’s wrong?” Scott was the one to break the comfortable silence that fell over the headsets, as they slaughtered their way through Monolith, Stiles frowned,

“There’s nothing wrong.”

“Bullshit, dude, that’s the fourth time you’ve died in little over an hour.”

Stiles sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He fixed the headset and nodded slowly, taking the time to aim and headshot a Scout, “Do you really want to know? And I’m going to tell you anyway, so don’t bother answering that first question.”

Scott laughed, “Stiles if I didn’t want to know I wouldn’t have asked in the first place.”

“Lydia doesn’t think I’m happy and is trying to set me up with Ethan. Erica and Kali are in on it too, man all the women in my life are conspiring against me...except Allison, she’s cool.”

“Are you happy though? And, uh, Allison isn’t totally innocent. She was talking to Lydia on Skype over the weekend –hey is Ethan the guy with the really big forehead?”

“I take it back, on the other side of the country and still meddling in my life. Allison is just another dick in Lydia’s bag of dicks. God. And yes, to both questions. Or at least I was happy, extremely happy, until work-“

“Dude, man, Stiles, I love you like a brother but I swear to Christ, if you go on about someone moving your makeup-“

“No, it’s not that. We got a bunch of new models working with us, I might have missed the distribution meeting, and Deucalion put Derek Even-My-Eyebrows-Judge-Your-Life-Choices Hale in my chair.”

Another beat and then Scott’s hyena laugh echoed through the connection, Stiles rolled his eyes as he waited for the asthma attack that would follow. Scott coughed as he took his inhaler, and let the breath out on a chuckle, “Even his eyebrows, what?”

“His eyebrows, Scott, they’re big! I swear they’re alive, they never stop moving, and make every expression he makes look like he’s about to shit after being constipated for the last forever.”

“Gross, thanks for that. But seriously, what’s the big deal about having to work with Derek...Ho’shit Hale, like Derek Hale, as in Laura Hale’s twin brother!”

“Thanks for catching up with the rest of the kids there Scotty, yes that Derek Hale –unless you know any other six foot assholes with judgy eyebrows and a Thor like body. God I hate him.”

“At least you know him, you always complain about being stuck working with noobs. Sucks that he’s a Hale though, you hate them.”

Stiles made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, “I don’t know him, I know of him. I’ve only actually known him for a week and he’s worse than I thought he’d ever be. It’s like working with a Weeping Angel.” He wasn’t going to touch on the sour topic that was his time working as Laura Hale’s makeup artist, no one talked about that on pain of death.

“Weeping Angel?”

“Yeah, from Doctor Who, the angel statues.” It was really the best way to describe working with Derek. He sat in the chair stiff and unmoving while Stiles fluttered about, being careful not to blink and always having at least one eye on Derek and Erica, because for some reason he was stuck with both of them when they had their own schedules. Though more often than not both models worked together, so it made Stiles job marginally easier. 

“Doctor...Who..?”

“Yes. Scott. Doctor Who. Wibbly Wobbley Oh My God, you haven’t watched it yet!”

“Not...exactly?” Stiles could see the sheepish grin that Scott was sporting. If they were face to face, Scott would have pulled out the puppy eyes in his attempt to cure Stiles fanboy-outrage,

“Dude you promised you’d watch it!”

“I will, I just-“

“Allison, yeah I know. Tell me, at least, you’ve watched Star Wars.”

“Uh, well...not completely.”

“Not completely. Not completely, how Scott?”

“So what are you going to do about Derek, and Ethan?”

“Nice deflection, but the next time I’m home we are sending Allison to France and are going to watch every single episode of Doctor Who and all of the Star Wars movies,” Stiles sighed, “I’m not going to do anything about Ethan other than not see him again. Ever. As for Derek, ugh, I’m trapped there. No one else wants to take him.” It was true. Stiles had gone to all the other makeup artists, even tried to use his power as Head Makeup Artist, to dispose of Derek on anyone else other than himself. No one wanted to work with a Hale. Stiles wasn’t sure if he should be impressed that his co-workers hated the Hales as much as he did, or infuriated that he couldn’t just get rid of Derek. He settled for a happy medium.

“Sucks. Well, at least he isn’t Laura.”

Stiles snorted, “At least I could tell what Laura was thinking. She’s an open book about everything. Derek is the complete opposite, and besides glaring poison-tipped-plus-five daggers with savings roll versus death, he has zero emotion. Mannequins are more living than he is.” 

“But Laura was a total bitch. I think working with Harpocrates would be a blessing in disguise.”

“You’d think,” Stiles muttered, falling into silence when he hear muffled speaking coming from Scott’s end, “Allison’s home?”

“Yeah, she says hi.”

“Tell her I said hi, and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Sounds good, see ya.” Scott logged off and Stiles followed suit, turning off the game and switching to Netflix. Wanting to get everything done and out of the way, so he could enjoy his weekend to the fullest, Stiles pulled his backpack up onto the couch and grabbed the stack of papers Deucalion had given him. With a sigh he looked through the cartoons for the show the least likely to distract him but keep him entertained anyway, he clicked on The Wild Thornberry’s and got to work organizing his next week.

\----

When Monday rolled around, a lot quicker than he would have liked, Derek found himself lying on his stomach in his hotel room –alone, and in pain. He squinted against the sunlight and swore when his alarm started beeping somewhere in the distance, slowly being drowned out by the sound of running water. Blinking, in an attempt to subdue his migraine, Derek sat up and looked around. It happened again, Laura taking him out and then all Hell breaking loose. At least this time he wasn’t covered in glitter and Laura had already left for Toronto, where her next movie was being filmed, which meant she was hung-over on a plane. That thought alone made Derek want to break out in a grin and he almost did, until he saw the extra clothing on the floor of his room. Black lace panties, matching bra, tight red dress, and black heels –Derek was pretty sure that none of those belonged to him. The sound of the water stopped, covering the hotel suite in a cone of silence, and the door to the bathroom opened. A woman stepped out wearing one of Derek’s t-shirts, that came down to just below the curve of her ass, and smiled at him,

“Good morning,” she walked over and leaned down, kissing him deeply. Derek placed his hands on her hips, as she crawled onto his lap,

“Morning, Jennifer,” he sighed softly, relief flooding through him that he hadn’t slept with a random hookup after all. Derek wouldn’t even have been surprised if Laura had given Jennifer a heads up about them going out. He let out a low groan as she raked her fingers through his hair and down the back of his head, “I have...to get ready for work,” he breathed out against her lips.

“I know.” She rocked her hips,

“So do you.” He tilted his head to nip at her throat, being careful not to leave any marks,

“Actually, it’s an in-service. Why do you think I was at a club on a Sunday night?”

Derek rolled his eyes, “Because Laura invited you out,”

Jennifer laughed and kissed the corner of his mouth, “Yeah and I’m going to steal you for the day. I’ve been bored with you not being able to do anything, ever.”

Derek gently pushed her away and she slid off with ease, “Well I’ll have a lot more free time, after these next couple of days.” He stood up and made his way towards the bathroom. Jennifer fell into step behind him, shedding the borrowed t-shirt as she went, and pressed against his back as he turned the water on, “So what are you going to do all day?” He asked as he stepped into the shower, moving to make room for her, before letting her crowd him against the wall,

“Well, I was thinking of tagging along. I’ve never seen you at work before and I want to meet this, Stiles.”

Xxx

This was probably a bad idea on a long list of bad life choices. Derek sighed as he pulled into DWS’ parking lot and parked in one of the spots reserved for models. Jennifer let out a low whistle as she stepped out of the Camaro, but didn’t say anything thankfully; she simply linked their arms as they walked into the building. 

“What’s the policy on visitors?” Derek asked when they approached the desk. Isaac looked up with a dejected sigh, because Derek just gave him work to do,

“I have to sign her into the system and get a guest pass from Security.” He set his phone to the side and booted up the desktop. Not for the first time Derek question the stability of this company, their front desk’s computer was nothing more than a thousand dollar paperweight. While Isaac was waiting for it to start he sent a text on his phone and just as he typed the login information, Boyd was arriving with the pass.

“So in total, the weekend was a total bust. Seriously he’s the least romantic person to ever exist. And I’ve dated some pretty anti-romance people.”

“He’s trying though. Isn’t he picking you up at lunch?”

There was a grumbled reply and a rush of movement. The next thing Derek knew, Erica was nearly knocking him to the side and jumping on Boyd –who barely had enough time to wrap his arms around her back, before she was kissing him. Stiles’ chuckle came from a little way to the left, Derek turned around to nod a ‘good morning’ to him when Stiles burst out into laughter, nearly dropping his Starbucks on the floor. Derek narrowed his eyes, 

“What?”

“Dude,” Stiles said between laughs, “I said shave, not retract your PhD from Puberty.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror-like windows, he didn’t get what was so funny. Yes he looked slightly younger without his scruff, but he certainly didn’t look pre-pubescent, “What are you on.”

Stiles shrugged, grinning, “Nothing, right now, you however,” he stepped into Derek’s space and poked him in the chest. And wow, when did that development start, last he checked Stiles wanted to maim and torture him, “You’re fucking hung-over again.”

“No I’m not.” He frowned,

“God, your face, it looks really soft,” Stiles chuckled, taking a drink from his coffee. Derek ignored the snicker from his other side. Stiles didn’t, however, and the playful teasing dropped as he took a rather noticeable step back and retracted his hand like the touch had burned, 

“Like a baby’s bottom,” Jennifer smiled, running the back of her hand over Derek’s cheek and jaw, “I don’t know what you said to make him get rid of the stubble, but thank you.” There was an awkward pause, even Erica and Isaac were looking between the three of them poised to bolt or help if need be,

“Anyway,” Stiles waved a hand, going back to the main point he’d been going to make, and breaking up the silence, ”I’m a makeup artist, Derek, I deal up close and personal with faces all day, at all times, I know what hangover looks like and that it’s a bitch to cover up. Mr Red Eyes...”

“Right-“ Derek frowned,

Isaac cleared his throat, “Uh...she’s free to go in now.”

Stiles threw the arm that wasn’t holding his coffee into the air, “Great, because we need more people in the studio today.” He grumped, grabbing Erica’s wrist and pulled her towards the elevator. He didn’t even pretend to hold the door for Derek and Jennifer, who were going to be on the same floor in a few minutes anyway.  
Jennifer raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest, “Well he seems pleasant.”

“That was Stiles,” Derek sighed as he pressed the button. Next to him, Jennifer nodded. He had a feeling this was going to be a very, very, long day.

He hated it when he was right.

\----

In the elevator Erica raised an eyebrow, “Are you mad he brought a friend, or an attractive friend?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “I’m pretty peeved he brought someone in general, yes, because with the set there’s hardly enough room for the people who need to be there –let alone the tagalongs of a model who’s been here barely a week. God I fucking hate Hales!”

“This morning you can address me as Lydia. It’s my mortal name.” Her voice was pinched, and Stiles blinked as he realised that the elevator door had opened and he had professed his innermost feelings to the entire studio. Lydia sighed and pulled him out of the elevator, “Everyone here knows your distaste for that particular family, but please try and be civil. Otherwise this is going to be a long and awkward day for everyone.”

“Yeah...alright,” Stile sighed, rolling his eyes as he followed her to his station. 

Erica patted him on the shoulder and gave him a light smile, “If it makes you feel any better all we have to do today is the Doctor Who shoot.”

Stiles groaned and rubbed his hands over his face, “It’s going to be a long day.”

“Stop bitching and it will go by quicker. Now I’m guessing he’s making a failed attempt at showing that bombshell of his around the building, so go ahead and get started on Erica. I’ll let you know when Matt arrives.”

“I’m pretty sure Matt will let me know when he gets here.” Stiles grumbled. Lydia kissed his cheek and ruffled his hair,

“Be good and I’ll see you at lunch.”

“Yeah, yeah...” he waved her off, waiting until she was in the elevator before turning back to Erica. She looked up from examining her nails and sighed fondly,

“Let it out, Batman.” She said as she shifted in her chair, getting comfortable for the time that it was going to take for her makeup.

Stiles started with a growl as he looked over his papers and reached for the primer, “I can’t fucking believe him. At all. Like who does he think he is?” Despite how angry he was, he was still as gentle as ever in applying the makeup and Erica couldn’t help but bite her lip as she tried not to laugh, “He’s been here all of a week. A week, Erica, and already he’s just randomly deciding that; Hey it’s going to be a super busy day and the studio is going to be violating all of the fire safety codes anyway so what’s one more ridiculously attractive person going to harm?”

Erica waited until Stiles had turned back to the table before laughing. She ignored the glare he was sending her through the mirror, and just smiled, “It’s okay, you know, to admit that you’re jealous.”

His eyes widened and then narrowed, “Jealous?” he scoffed, “Jealous of what, exactly? There is absolutely nothing to be jealous about.” He all but stabbed the brush in the foundation, “He’s an arrogant prick who thinks that just because he comes from a line of blood thirsty, flesh rendering, virgin sacrificing, supernaturally good looking demons that he can do whatever he wants.” Stiles shook his head, blowing on the tip of the brush to remove any access powder, “I’m not jealous.” 

Erica raised an eyebrow and closed her eyes as he moved the brush closer, “I wasn’t talking about him.”

“I’m not jealous of her either.”

“If you say so, Batman.”

“I do. Now shut up and hold still.” He grumbled. Erica stuck her tongue out at him and Stiles rolled his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but stilled when he heard a soft chuckle from the opening. He looked up and frowned. He was not jealous. Stiles took a deep breath and pointed towards a costume rack that was just outside the screen, “Your outfit is there. Go get changed while I finish up with Erica’s makeup.” 

Derek picked the hanger up off of the rack and turned to Jennifer, “You can just hang out here, I’ll just be a minute.” He glanced around, “I’m sure we can find you a chair somewhere...” he trailed off when Stile snorted. Derek looked over and frowned, “What?”

“I’m just wondering where you’re going to find an extra chair. That’s all.”

Derek stood up a little straighter, “There’s plenty of chairs around here that-“

“That are being used. Dude, there’s barely enough space let alone chairs for everyone that’s supposed to be here.”

A small growl started to build in Derek’s chest and for a brief moment Stiles wondered if this was the part where his face got eaten. Jennifer put a hand on Derek’s shoulder and smiled, a bit too sweetly, at Stiles before turning her attention back to Derek,

“It’s fine, I can stand, go get changed.”

Derek deflated a little and Stiles shared a look with Erica, a look that Derek caught as he was turning to leave and glared at the two of them. Erica rolled her eyes and Stiles bit back a snarky comment. Derek turned and left for the changing rooms in a huff.

Stiles rolled his eyes and shook his head, letting out a deep breath, “Look...Jennifer, was it?” She nodded, “I’m not...” he sighed, “It’s not that I have a sudden hate on for you or anything, it’s just that Derek picked the absolute worse day to surprise everyone and bring a visitor.”

Jennifer smiled softly, arms folded over her stomach, and scanned the room. She watched set builders move back and forth between setting up different scenes in different areas of the room and making sure that the cameras and lighting equipment were in the most accurate positions. Though Stiles knew Matt was just going to move everything when he arrived. He was kind of a dick like that. Jennifer gave a soft sigh and looked back at Stiles, 

“It’s fine, really. I understand, though...don’t be too hard on him. It was my idea to tag along.” She brushed some hair out of her face and her smile grew a little sheepish, “His career has kept him on the West coast for the better part of it, so when Laura called and said that he was working out here I surprised him with a visit.”

Stiles shrugged, he really didn’t care why she was there or how she got to be, “Cool story bro, you can stand there so long as you don’t get in the way. Otherwise I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

She nodded, and Stiles went back to work finishing up Erica’s makeup. It was a harder task than usual, as Erica was trying to have a telepathic conversation with him and he felt like everyone was watching him. Grabbing the sealing spray from out of his kit, he gave Erica a good, even, coating and nodded, “Alright, Catwoman, go get changed and then I’ll do your hair.”

“This’ll be fun.” Erica grinned as she stood up, casting Stiles a last glance over her shoulder as Derek walked into the station behind her. Stiles took a deep breath and started counting backwards from a hundred. When he reached seventy-three he let out the breath and picked up the primer, nearly dropping it when he turned around to get to work.  
Derek stood by the chair. Dark slacks hugged his legs nicely and stopped just short of his ankles. The boots fit him too, which had been a nightmare trying to find a pair –Stiles salutes the costume department for their hard work and perseverance. The maroon shirt stretched a crossed his chest and, despite having seen him shirtless numerous times in the last week, Stiles hadn’t really noticed how broad Derek’s shoulders were. Stiles blinked, tightening his grip on the plastic tube, and cleared his throat,

“Where’s your jacket?”

Derek lifted his arm to show the leather jacket that he would be wearing in a few minutes. Stiles sighed and motioned for him to sit down. As much as he had argued that Derek wasn’t going to be a fit for the Doctor...seeing him all dressed up in Nine’s outfit –Stiles wasn’t going to admit to anyone that he might have been wrong. 

Jennifer let out a low whistle of appreciation and chuckled softly, “You look amazing.” She eyed him up and grinned to match his smirk when she reached his face again. Stiles inwardly gagged and outwardly rolled his eyes, “Are you allowed to keep your outfits?”

Oh god. Stiles cleared his throat, “The costume department isn’t too keen on giving things out. Now, if we could get started? You’re going to take me all of ten minutes.”

Derek’s playful look turned into a scowl as he shifted to face the front. Stiles rolled his eyes, “God, it’s not like I’m trying to do my job and get you prepped for yours.”

“Just get on with it.” Derek grumped. Stiles glared and barely waited until Derek had his eyes closed before misting the primer over his face, he rolled his eyes at the deep rumble of a growl, and Jennifer chuckled softly and amused as she watched them.

Stiles didn’t waste much time on Derek’s minimum make up. With a little bit of cover up to hide the dark circles under Derek’s eyes and foundation to blend it all together, Stiles grabbed the eye drops out of his first aid makeup kit –used for hiding scrapes, bruises, and on the more common occasions Erica’s hickeys, and reached over. Derek growled and leaned back. Stiles sighed, 

“For the redness, since someone decided to get drunk last night.”

“I didn’t decide to.” He huffed, but didn’t try to get away again when Stiles leaned over and tipped the small bottle,

“Right, someone forced multiple drinks down your throat.” Derek didn’t respond and Stiles didn’t say anything else, both of them ignored the smile on Jennifer’s face and the way she light up when Erica came back. She was wearing a Union Jack t-shirt under a brown bomber-jacket and acid washed skinny jeans,

“You look stunning.”

Erica flipped a lock of hair over her shoulder and grinned, “Most of it is thanks to Stiles handy work, but yeah I look pretty amazing on my own too.”

Jennifer laughed and leaned against Derek’s back, hands on his shoulders, “All done here?”

Stiles nodded, “He’s free to go until Matt, the photographer, shows up.” He watched them as Derek stood up and pulled the jacket on, “Try not to mess his makeup, I don’t want to have to waste anyone’s time by reapplying anything.”

Derek furrowed his eyebrows, eyes narrowing, and Jennifer put a hand on his bicep, squeezing gently, “Don’t worry Stiles, I’ll bring him back just the way I found him.” She gave him another smile as Derek led her around to introduce her to the other models.

Stiles let out a frustrated huff and fell into the seat. Erica gave him a thin smile, “You alright there, Batman?”

“Just fucking peachy.” He ran his hands through his hair, tugging at a few strands, before rubbing his eyes, “Just. Peachy.”

Erica sighed and leaned over, “C’mon Stiles, we’ll go to XL tonight. You, Me, Boyd, Lydia, and Isaac. We’ll all go out and drink and dance and forget all about your haterection for Hale.”

“M-My what?!” Stiles sputtered, spinning around in the chair to face her. Erica gave him a predatory grin and draped her arms over his shoulders, lips pressed closely to his ear,

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell Lydia. But it’s only a matter of time before she figures it out for herself, if she hasn’t already.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and held in a groan as he pushed her away, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Besides it’s only Monday.”

“Great, I’ll send everyone a text later.” She pulled Stiles out of the chair and sat down, “Until then, you need to do my hair.”

Stiles huffed and wondered when this had become his life. When had he given up his Man Card and let the women, women that he wasn’t even dating, rule his life with an iron fist? He sighed and started running the comb through Erica’s curls, spraying lightly as he teased and straightened as necessary. This was it, he realised, this was the extent of his...well his everything. If it wasn’t Lydia pulling him around by his balls with her manicured nails digging into his skin, than it was Erica leading him to his death by the collar of his shirt. 

It wouldn’t be so bad he guessed, as he watched Erica tap away on the screen of her phone, no doubt sending a mass text about tonight’s outing, if he actually went out with them. It would get Lydia off of his back about not being social and for turning Ethan down –again. He might also find someone to have sex with. Stiles didn’t want to admit it but the dry spell he had been on, ever since Danny broke up with him, was really starting to catch up with him. He didn’t need much. A little quickie in the bathroom at the nightclub would be enough to keep him going for a while longer. 

He pulled her bangs back and clipped them near the crown of her head, pulling a few strands to fall in front of her face, and took a step back, “Maybe I should call you Bad Wolf for today, hm?”

Erica chuckled, “Except this shoot is taking place pre-Bad Wolf arc, you know that.”

Stiles sighed and pretended to swoon, “Are you sure we wouldn’t work out?”

“We’ve talked about this. I can’t have a boyfriend who’s into penis as much as I am.”

“It would make arranging threesomes so much easier, though.” Stiles nodded to himself, but at the coy smile Erica gave him in the mirror he lost his confidence in that rather quickly, “Boyd is really okay with other people touching you?”

“Sometimes he just watches while I fuck other women. And after I’m done with her, he’ll-“

“Okay, okay,” Stiles waved his hands, arms flailing as he backed away, “I don’t need to hear what he does.”

Erica laughed, “Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to tell you any of his secrets. Though when you finally get some tail, I want to hear all about it.”

“Stilinski’s getting laid?”

Stiles jumped at the sudden voice and turned around, “Jesus, Matt, trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Trying, not succeeding.” Matt smirked, fixing the camera strap over his shoulder. Stiles rolled his eyes. If there was a single, non-Hale, person that Stiles hated more than, well, the Hales –it was Matt. He wasn’t just arrogant and egotistical, but he was also a major creep. Back in senior year of high school, for Valentine’s Day, he had given Allison a scrapbook filled with pictures of herself. Most of them were taken around the school, but some of them had been from family trips and outing with her friends. They had noted that any photos that would have had Scott in them, Scott was edited out of them. A broken nose and few bruised egos later, both Scott and Matt had been given detention for a week and weren’t allowed to be around one another –which put a damper on lacrosse, seeing as they had both been on the team. Allison hadn’t been long after that in getting a restraining order put on Matt, and it hadn’t been until Stiles’ dad had threatened him with juvenile detention that Matt had taken the hint and finally left Allison alone.

“Ah ha, ha. You are so hilarious.” Stiles deadpanned. Matt just chuckled and winked at Erica, who wrinkled her nose, 

“I tend to be. Are you sticking around for the photo shoot?” 

Stiles shook his head, “Nah, it’s my lunch break soon.”

“Alright then, I have to go get set up. See you later, Stiles.” He waved as he walked off, Stiles waved him away with a middle finger. Though as much of an ass as Matt was, he was an amazing photographer.

Stiles shook his head, “Alright. You’re all set, Derek’s finished. Yup, that does it for me.” He gave Erica a quick kiss on the cheek and fixed a few strands of her hair, “I’m going to meet up with Lydia and I’ll see you afterwards.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay and watch Sourpuss be more surly than normal?”

“Do you mean do I want to stay and watch as he brutally murders a fandom that is near and dear to my heart?” Stiles asked, and pointedly ignored the raised eyebrow Erica was giving him, “I’ll pass. Make me proud Catwoman.”

Derek looked back in time to see Erica salute Stiles as he zipped up his sweater and got on the elevator. He watched as the doors closed, Stiles tapping away on his phone as he leaned against the back wall, and he shook his head. Jennifer followed his gaze and looked back at him with a raised eyebrow, 

“So Stiles...he’s kind of adorable.”

“He’s kind of a pain in the ass.” He frowned, not liking the look on Jennifer’s face, “What?”

“You were talking about him an awful lot last night. I’ll admit it’s the real reason I wanted to come in, to meet Stiles. The annoying, mole-spotted, makeup artist with the sexiest hands you’ve ever seen. And you’ve seen a lot of hands.”

Derek narrowed his eyes, “I do not sound like that.”

“Yes, darling, you really do. You’re just lucky Laura wasn’t around when you really got going. I almost thought we weren’t going to have sex.” She twisted a curl around her index finger and nodded, “You know what they say. Drunk words are sober thoughts.”

“No. He is a royal pain in the ass. Ever since I first stepped foot in this building a week ago, a week Jen, he’s barely been able to stay civil.”

Jennifer frowned, “Well you must have done something?”

Derek shook his head, “No, I really haven’t. He even spent the better part of the week trying to get another artist to work with me. Apparently Deucalion won’t let him trade me off. Something about the best for the best...Stiles hates it. Gripes about it all the time.”

“It’s because of your sister.”

Derek and Jennifer turned around, eyebrows raised, Matt extended a hand, “Matt Daehler, photographer.” He smiled at Jennifer and grinned when Derek shook his hand, “And if you’re wondering about Stiles, it’s totally Laura’s fault. He kind of has a hate on for all the Hales actually...except maybe you’re mother –what with her being a huge name in medical research and all.”

Derek’s eyebrow threatened to retreat into his hairline, “What are you-“

“I’d love to chat, but I have to go rearrange all the lighting equipment. Make sure you’re ready because we start in ten.” With a wave, and a wink in Jennifer’s direction, Matt walked off to fiddle with a lamp. Derek blinked and scratched the back of his neck,

“That was...”

“Anything but enlightening.” Jennifer shook her head and put a hand on Derek’s shoulder, “Maybe you should talk to Stiles and figure out what’s wrong. If he really hates you that much, maybe if you talked to Deucalion he would set someone else up as your artist.”

Derek sighed as he looked over the different sets. The one that they were currently standing in was supposed to be the inside of the T.A.R.D.I.S, another one would have them surrounded by Daleks, the third set had a handful of women dressed like angel statues, and the fourth one was going to have twelve other models dressed as the other Doctors standing alongside him. It wasn’t going to be a hard shoot, or a very long one, though he did admire the amount of effort that went into the set design. Derek had only watched a few episodes, as research for the role he was supposed to be portraying and not because Stiles had seemed so offended at his lack of knowledge on the subject, so he knew that it was an uncanny resemblance. He was sure Stiles might have had something to do with the design team’s final products but that was pure speculation.

Maybe he should talk to Deucalion about changing makeup artists. Derek frowned, it wasn’t like he got on with Stiles all that well. The younger man always seemed to have some snarky comment, and was always glaring at him. Derek did realise that he probably wasn’t helping to defuse the tension by glaring back, but he had long since come to terms with the fact that broody was his default facial setting. Modeling agencies and photographers alike loved him for it. The dark and mysterious, border line serial killer if Laura was asked, look really sold; his neatly kept stubble, his quaffed hair that he really didn’t do anything to, and they especially loved his eyebrows. Thanks to his genetics, his skin was nearly flawless and rarely needed much more than a quick dust over of powdered foundation or a light coding of lip gloss –depending on what was needed.

“Derek, are you even listening to me anymore?”

Derek blinked a couple of times and gave her a small smile, “Of course. Talk to Stiles. Talk to Deucalion-“

“No, well yes but that was a little while ago. I was trying to tell you that I’m going to get a coffee and wait in the library for you. Your shoot is about to begin and everyone not needed is being shoo’d.”

“Oh. Alright,” he gave her a chaste kiss and nodded, “I’ll see you afterwards.”

She smiled and patted his cheek, saying good-bye to Erica as she passed the blond on her way to the elevator. 

Erica stood next to Derek and hummed, “She’s pretty. Where’d you two meet?”

“She was my younger sister’s English teacher. I met her when I picked Cora up from school once.” 

“Sounds riveting, I bet she’s a real firecracker in bed, eh?” Her smile turned into a grin as she watched the tips of Derek’s ears redden slightly,

“She’s-“ Derek frowned and narrowed his eyes at Erica, “What the hell, does it matter to you?”

Erica shrugged, “It doesn’t. I’m just curious and you two see pretty cozy.”

“We’re not dating, if that’s what you’re trying to hint at. Not anymore anyway.” He grumbled the last bit, not meaning for Erica to hear it but she did and she gave him a smile full of pearly white teeth. Whatever she was about to say was cut off by Matt calling them to get into their first position.

\----

“You need to get laid.”

“Hello to you too,” Stiles snorted as he sat in the empty chair across from Lydia. Styrofoam take-out containers were spread out over her desk and she smiled thinly at him. Stiles rolled his eyes, “Can we skip whatever scheme you’ve come up with and eat?”

Lydia sighed softly and pulled one of the containers closer to her, popping it open to reveal steaming chicken-fried rice and chicken balls. Stiles grinned as he grabbed one for himself, breathing in the sweet scent of beef and broccoli. 

They ate in silence, for a few minutes, before Lydia set down her fork and dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a napkin, 

“Stiles,”

“Whatever you’re going to say, the answer is no.”

“Even if I was going to say that you should just have sex with Hale and get it over with?”

Stiles chocked on a piece of pepper. Downing half his glass of water, he coughed a couple of times, and glared at her, “Have sex. With Derek I-Drive-A-Camero-Because-I-Have-A-Tiny-Penis Hale. No way, besides you’ve seen his girlfriend.” He didn’t like the sweet smile that crept onto Lydia’s face, hidden behind her chuckle,

“Stiles the tension between you two is so thick, you’d need a chainsaw to cut through it.” Stiles rolled his eyes, Lydia reached over and took his hand, “And yes, I have seen his friend who just so happens to be a girl. While she’s gorgeous, she’s nothing to worry about.” With her free hand she pulled her tablet out of the desk drawer and turned it on, swiping in the password, she placed it in front of him, “Miss Jennifer Blake, teaches junior and senior level English at Stuyvesant High School,” Lydia gave a fake yawn and opened one of the other tabs, “Absolutely nothing amazing or outstanding about her, except that she did date Derek a few years ago –before he moved to LA to be with his modeling career.”

“Aww, Lids, you stalked her for me?” He shook his head and stuffed his mouth full of broccoli, “That’s nice and all, but I don’t want anything to do with the Hales.”

“Derek’s not Laura, Stiles.”

He pushed the half eaten meal towards her and stood up, “He’s still a Hale, Lydia.” He turned and walked out of the office, ignoring her as she called after him. Stiles didn’t stop until he was sitting in his Jeep. A glance at his phone told him that he still had forty-five minutes left in his lunch break, so he put the keys in the ignition and decided to go get a coffee.

On his way back from Starbucks, sitting in the catastrophe that was mid-day rush hour, Stiles decided that he was going to take a vacation. He hadn’t had one, a real one, in what felt like years and he knew that Deucalion would let him now that the more important priorities were taken care of. Stiles had complete faith in the rest of his makeup artists, not to fuck things up while he was away. As he inched along, stuck behind a rather obnoxious looking SUV, he played with different ideas of where he’d like to go. France was nice this time of year, so long as he didn’t stray too far south. Italy was always pleasant as well. He could always take a trip to Ontario and visit with his Oma and Opa . Or, he nodded to himself as he took the last swig of his chocolate caramel chai latte, he could just save the money that he didn’t have and go spend a couple weeks in Beacon Hills. Stiles sighed softly, leaning against the steering wheel, going back sounded like the better option. He hadn’t seen a lot of his dad recently, on Skype or otherwise, and with Allison’s due-date fast approaching he hadn’t heard from Scott a whole lot either.

A horn from somewhere behind him broke him out of his reverie and he blinked, noticing that the line of cars was moving again. Slowly he pressed on the gas and moved up the three inches before applying pressure to his breaks. 

Almost an hour later, he was pulling back into DWS’s parking lot. With a painful sigh Stiles turned off the Jeep and leaned his forehead against the steering wheel, arms limp in his lap. He closed his eyes. That vacation was starting to sound better and better by the second. He jumped, and bashed his nose in to the horn, at a tap on his window. He turned with phasers set to kill, holding his nose, to see who the culprit was. Standing beside his Jeep, hair pulled into a messy bun and wearing street clothes, was Erica. She flashed her teeth at him as she tapped on the window again and made the motion for him to roll it down. When he chose to ignore her, she rolled her eyes and walked away. Stiles let out another sigh and checked his nose in the rear-view mirror, thankful that it wasn’t broken or bleeding –just stung like a bitch. He squeaked when the Jeep raddled and Erica was suddenly all up in his personal space,

“Do you want to thank me now, or later?” She asked with a purr,

“For making me bash my nose to pieces? How about never.”

Erica rolled her eyes and put her elbow on the top of the driver’s seat, where the headrest was supposed to be, and played with Stiles’ hair, “No-puh, not that.”

“Then what ever for?” He asked with mock enthusiasm, that quickly turned into gut wrenching dread at the Cheshire Cat grin that spread across her face,

“I managed to convince Jennifer to come out drinking with us. She, in turn, somehow managed to get Derek to come along too.”

“Because that’s how I need to end this day. Watching those two grind like horny teenagers on the dance floor, while I reassure the bartender for the millionth time that I’m twenty-two and ward off the awkward advancements of drunken mid-life-crises who aren’t satisfied with their wives...no thank you.”

Erica rolled her eyes, “You don’t have to worry about any of that,” Stiles snorted and she tugged on his bangs, “I mean it. I’m bringing Jennifer along for my entertainment. Meaning she’ll be trapped between me and Boyd all night. Derek’s all yours.”

“I don’t want him.”

“He’s a gift.”

“He’s a curse.”

Erica chuckled, “Think of it as an early Christmas present from me and Lydia to you.”

“If that’s the case I’ll just regift him to the first grey haired man in a business suit that looks at me twice.” There was a heartbeat of a pause and then both of them were laughing at the mental image of Derek trying to back out of talking to middle aged men. 

“So are you still in?”

Stiles sighed and leaned into the touch, tilting his head to look over her shoulder and stared at the building, “Pretty sure Lydia wouldn’t be the only one to kill me if I said no.” He gave a light smile at Erica’s nod, “Pick me up at ten?”

“Eight. We’re going out for dinner first.” Erica kissed his cheek and slid out of the Jeep, slamming the door behind her. Stiles waved her off, as she slipped into Boyd’s car and started honking the horn. Taking a deep breath he left the sanctuary of his Jeep and made his way back to the third floor for clean up.

\----

Derek was really starting to regret all his life choices. Why did he let his uncle convince him into being a model when he had been perfectly content playing baseball for the rest of his life? He couldn’t come up with a believable answer, or even an excuse, anymore. That was most likely how he found himself leaning against the bar, ridiculously expensive drink in hand, as he watched everyone else dance a few feet away. Jennifer, most of her skin confined in a tiny aqua dress, was sandwiched between an even less dressed Erica and a sharply dressed Boyd. Jennifer’s hands were draped over Erica’s shoulders as they rocked and grinned together. Derek took a sip from his drink, there was no doubt he would be making the trip back to his hotel room tonight alone –at that thought he downed the rest of his drink and ordered another one. A few bodies from the trio Lydia was dancing with Stiles, who looked like he wanted to be there as much as Derek did.

Derek still didn’t understand Stiles, and hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to him yet. He thought he would have been able to ask a few questions at dinner, but the conversation turned mostly to talking about Allison’s pregnancy and taking bets on names and dates. The constant glares that Stiles would send in Derek’s direction, every time they made eye contact, didn’t exactly encourage him to try and talk –to anyone. 

As soon as they had walked into the dance club, Erica had taken Jennifer’s hand and dragged her off. Boyd had clapped a hand on Derek’s shoulder and apoligised,

“She’s wanted to get her hands on Jen for a few hours now.”

Derek shook his head, “It’s fine. Jennifer was talking out her nerves while we were getting ready.” Boyd chuckled and patted Derek’s shoulder again before following the two women through the throng of people. 

Lydia stood to Derek’s left and hummed, “I think we should get some drinks.”

“I’m driving, remember?”

Lydia put a hand on his bicep, Stiles falling into his peripheral on her other side, “A single drink at the start of the night will be sweated out of your system by the time we leave.”

Derek didn’t believe her but allowing himself to be dragged to the bar, where he not only had to pay for Lydia’s drink but Stiles’ as well, was less painful than arguing with her. A lesson that Derek had learned earlier on in the week was that; Lydia always won.

An elbow bumping into his arm jarred him from his thoughts and he looked over, ready to snap at the unsuspecting drunk, when he saw Stiles leaning over the counter trying to flag down the bartender. Derek shook his head and gently nudged Stiles back. Stiles turned his head with a raised eyebrow,

“What –oh...it’s you.”

Derek rolled his eyes, “Yes, it’s me.”

“Well what do you want?”

“Here,” Derek held out the still, mostly, full glass, “You can finish mine.”

Stiles eyed the glass, no doubt thinking that Derek had done something to it, but he slowly reached out and took it, “You sure?”

Derek nodded, “I’m driving most everyone back tonight and already had a drink. Take it.”

Stiles looked back for the bartender, who was at the complete opposite side of the bar, and shrugged. He took the drink from Derek with a soft thanks and took a gulp, coughing before he pulled a face, “Dude, you could have like...warned me that it was straight whiskey.”

Derek blinked. He was caught up in watching Stiles’ tongue dart in and out of his mouth, as the younger man open and closed his mouth, trying to rid the shock of the taste. Stiles let out another small cough, as he took a small sip from the glass –making no face this time, now that he knew what to expect from the drink, and frowned,

“You totally did that on purpose.”

Derek blinked, again, “I did what?”

“Gave me your drink just to watch me gag.”

“You’re the one who didn’t ask what it was first.” Derek told him, deadpanned and with a raised eyebrow. Stiles grumbled and turned to lean against the bar top, 

“Details. You still could have warned me that it wasn’t some fruity girly drink. Like a Pornstar or a Blowjob or something.”

“A what...or a what?” 

Stiles gave Derek an incredulous look, “Seriously, dude?” He shook his head and put a hand on Derek’s forearm as he leaned over to explain, “They are drinks. The super sugary sweet kind that are good for nothing except a fast drunk, a quick recovery, and a massive hankering for McDonald’s in the morning.”

“And I look like someone who would willingly drink something like that?” Eyebrow still up, Derek watched as Stiles leaned back and eyed him from head to toe. 

“You’re right. You are most defiantly more the type of person to drink whiskey straight and give some poor chap the rest of your drink without warning.”

Derek chuckled, though it was lost under the pounding beat of the music as the song picked back up. Stiles sighed, “I guess I should go back out there.” He shot back what was left in the glass and placed it on the counter, “You going to stay here and what, glare at every living soul and nurse a Coke?”

“That sounds about right. Maybe I’ll order another whiskey just to see someone else have a near death experience.”

Stiles laughed, giving Derek the first, real, smile that he had seen since he started working with the makeup artist. That was directed at him, anyway. Stiles smiled at nearly everyone that he walked by, but had a special scowl reserved just for the model. He patted Derek’s arm as he walked past, maybe lingering a bit longer than necessary when his fingers reached Derek’s wrist –but that may have just been Derek’s mind playing a trick on him.

Xxx

To say that Stiles felt bad, would be overestimating his feelings. He didn’t really, as he alternated between dancing with Lydia and Isaac, care all that much about how pitiful Derek looked standing by himself at the bar, drink in hand, giving murderous eyes to anyone who so much as even dared to turn their heads in his direction. Part of him wanted to walk back over and talk to him. Stiles told that part of him to go home, that he was drunk, and didn’t need a conversation with someone who was more than likely going to kill his buzz. If Derek wanted to stay on the edge of the dance floor looking like a creeper, than Stiles was going to let him. He did want to ask Derek if he was surprised that not a whole lot of people seemed to be approaching him. Of course, Stiles reminded himself, the death vibes that emanated from him were probably keeping any fans at bay.

After a few more songs that Stiles recognized and a handful of remixes that never should have been produced Lydia disappeared, probably to go to the bathroom –again. Stiles told her not to break the seal, but she never listens. Isaac had managed to work his way into the threesome that was Erica, Boyd, and Jennifer, so now they were dancing in some almost ritualistic not-quite-a-square pattern that made sure everyone was somehow touching everyone –and that left Stiles alone. 

He didn’t care, having enough alcohol in his system that he just moved a little deeper into the sea of people. Stiles felt hands on his hips and a chest against his back. He turned his head slightly and was greeted with the sight of a larger than average forehead and a slightly upturned nose. Stiles let out a squawk, when he just recognized the stranger, and tried to get away. The grip on his hips tightened,

“C’mon Stiles, just dance with me.”

Stiles turned in the hold, so that they were chest-to-chest, and tried to push him off, “No. Ethan.”

Ethan leaned closer, his vodka laced breath ghosting along Stiles’ jaw and lips brushing against his ear, “Is it really that bad, to dance with me?”

“If all you wanted to do was dance? Probably not.” Stiles was trying his best to be civil, as he leaned back and his gentle pushes started turning into rough shoves. He didn’t want to stop going to one of his favourite diners, just because the owner’s grandson was a giant penis-brain. Stiles blinked, pausing for a moment in trying to escape, maybe he should just tell the old woman what her grandson was getting up to and how much Ethan was harassing him. Stiles patted himself on the back and then scolded himself for not thinking of it sooner. Ethan, however, used the pause in Stiles’ actions to pull him closer and press tightly against him. As their bodies connected, Stiles sputtered back to life and doubled his efforts to get away. He couldn’t see any of his friends through the crowd, so he wasn’t holding out hope that any of them could see him.

“Stop being such a princess. You know you want this.” Ethan leaned in closer, pressing his lips to Stiles’ jaw, and pushed his hips hard into Stiles’. Stiles let out a soft whimper, because ouch that had hurt, but Ethan didn’t hear the pain and grinned as he did it again, “Told you.”

Stiles shook his head, trying to push back the wave of nausea that washed over him, “No. You didn’t tell me anything, because I really don’t want any of this.” 

Ethan snorted, “Keep telling yourself that, Babe.”

Stiles opened his mouth, witty reply at the ready, when he snapped his jaw shut. It all happened a little suddenly. Ethan took a step back, relaxing his hold on Stiles’ hips, as a warm arm encircled Stiles’ waist. A firm chest pressed against his back and he felt the soft brush of well kept stubble against his temple. Stiles leaned back as a familiar voice rumbled against his face,

“I finally managed to get the bartenders attention long enough to get you your drink.” The other arm wrapped around Stiles in a protective manner, holding a glass with a blue-purple drink, and Stiles had to hold in a chuckle as he took the offered Pornstar. Derek pressed his lips against Stiles’ temple, not really a kiss but it still turned the nausea into butterflies –and made Ethan take a few steps back and narrow his eyes,

“Who the fuck are you?”

Stiles rolled his eyes because, seriously, drunk people, “He’s-“

“His boyfriend.” Derek growled, tightening his arms around Stiles’ waist. Stiles had to turn his head to the side, before he started laughing at the expression on Ethan’s face. He wasn’t sure if it could be labelled as anything besides horrifyingly-confused, though it quickly turned into one of anger.

Ethan looked like he wanted to say something, maybe even hit someone –most likely Derek, but he didn’t. Instead he turned and shoved his way through the crowd, getting a lot of angry yells and threats as he went. Secretly, Stiles hoped that he shoved the wrong man and got his ass kicked. Hey, he could dream.

When Ethan was safely out of their line of sight, Stiles leaned against Derek and laughed. It didn’t even register that Derek’s arms were still around him, and that they might have started swaying to the slower rhythm of the new song.

They stayed like that for a few, silent, moments. Stiles closed his eyes and started humming along with the beat, pressing back into Derek when he felt fingers dance across his stomach and dig, gently, into the dip of his hips. Of course that was the moment that his brain decided to catch up with the rest of his body and snap him to attention. Stiles stiffened for a brief moment, but it was long enough for Derek to feel it and pull his arms back. Stiles turned around to face him, 

“Nuh-uh, you can’t leave me out here after pulling a stunt like that.”

Derek looked around, Stiles thought he was scanning the area for Ethan but started to second guess the assumption when the man frowned, “I think everyone else left.”

Stiles blinked and then pulled his phone out of his back pocket. It was Derek’s turn to blink, not quiet able to comprehend how Stiles managed to keep anything in his pockets. “You’re right.” Stiles told him, holding the phone towards Derek’s face. There were three texts; one from Erica, saying that she left and took Boyd and Jennifer with her, one from Lydia, saying that she was getting a cab with Isaac, and the third was from Isaac telling Stiles not to worry and that he would get Lydia home safely. Derek sighed, digging his own phone out of his jeans and saw that there was a text from Jennifer, nearly identical to the one Stiles had received from Erica.

Putting his phone away, Derek grabbed Stiles by the arm and tugged him off of the dance floor. Stiles looked up from typing a mass text and blinked, “What are you..?”

“Finish your drink and I’ll drive you home.”

Stiles pressed send, without even looking at the screen, as he scanned the dance floor. So many opportunities, gone. He sighed, “May as well.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, “Would you rather stay and have that guy find you again?”

“His name’s Ethan, and it doesn’t matter anyway. After announcing to the entire club that you were my boyfriend...I’m not getting laid tonight.”

Derek rolled his eyes, “Let’s go.”

Stiles huffed and set the half empty glass on a random table as he walked passed. Getting their jackets from the coat-check, Derek put his arm around Stiles’ waist again. At Stiles’ raised eyebrow, Derek nodded towards the door. When Stiles looked over he saw Ethan standing outside, cigarette in one hand and texting furiously with the other. Stiles sighed and walked closer to Derek, not saying anything when he felt a hand on the small of his back, as Derek lead him towards the Camaro. With a yawn, Stiles slid into the passenger seat and closed his eyes as the engine purred to life.

The silence inside the car was a welcomed change from the thudding noise of the club. Derek drove under the speed limit, despite the roads being empty this early in the morning, it would be his luck to get pulled over by the lone police car. 

Coming to a stop as a red light Derek realised that, even though he said that he was going to bring Stiles home, he didn’t know where Stiles lived. Derek looked over, “Hey Stiles where...Great.” He sighed softly and shook his head. With his head leaning against the window, Stiles snored softly. Derek rubbed his eyes with his left hand and tapped the steering wheel with his right. What was he supposed to do? There was no one he could get in contact with, now, to find out where Stiles’ apartment was. 

The light turned green, just as Derek was making his decision, and he drove towards the hotel.

Derek was still reconsidering all of his life choices, up to this point, as he carried Stiles up to his hotel room. The receptionist had raised an eyebrow as they had gone by the front desk, one of Stiles’ arms around Derek’s neck and Derek holding him up around the waist, but he didn’t say anything as Derek all but dragged Stiles onto the elevator.

The ride up took longer than Derek would have liked it too. It left him alone with his thoughts that gave him more questions that he couldn’t answer. Stiles hummed in his sleep, wiggling as though he was trying to get comfortable. Derek stared up at the ceiling, blinking against the harsh florescent lights, and tried to figure out what he was going to do with Stiles.

Sure, his bed was more than large enough for the two of them to sleep in without worrying about touching. But Derek didn’t know Stiles’ sleeping habits; if the other man was a heat seeker, a blanket stealer, or a freaking starfish. He didn’t want to submit himself to any of that. He also didn’t want to risk Laura showing up in the morning for, well, anything really –even though she was somewhere in Canada filming, her location changed almost daily and Derek didn’t bother keeping track. Though if he went through his text message inbox he’d probably be able to make a detailed route of her travels. 

The main outcome he wanted to avoid was the freak out that Stiles would inevitably have upon waking, regardless of what position they found themselves in come morning. He supposed, as the elevator opened and he hefted Stiles straighter so that he could walk them down the hall, he could always drop Stiles on the couch. Or he could take the couch. 

Decisions.

Derek stopped in front of the door and shifted Stiles so that he could grab his wallet, and get the key-card. Swiping the card, and waiting a moment for the light to turn green on the lock, Derek pushed the door open and half stumbled inside the room. Carefully, he managed to move them both into the area of the room that held the couch and television. Derek sighed, mind made up. He’d drop Stiles on the bed and take the couch himself, since he wasn’t all that tired despite how draining the day had been and how late it was now –he could watch the TV on a low volume until he passed out. 

Shuffling over to the bedroom, he took Stiles’ jacket off and carefully laid the, somehow, still sleeping man on the bed. Standing up, Derek removed Stiles’ sneakers and placed them by the side of the bed. But that’s as far as he was going. He moved Stiles around, going slow enough that he wouldn’t wake Stiles, and manoeuvred him under the blankets. Derek sighed and ran a hand over his face as he watched Stiles roll over, cuddle the pillow, and burry his face in the soft fabric as he let out a soft snort. 

He couldn’t be sure how long he stood there and counted the moles on Stiles’ cheek, the ones that made a small path down the side of his neck before they disappeared underneath the collar of his shirt, but it was probably a longer than he would ever admit. Derek watched Stiles’ hands, as they tightened and loosened their grip around the pillow, and as his mouth opened slightly as he breathed. 

Before he realised what he was doing, Derek found himself inches away from Stiles’ sleeping face. He snapped to attention, back stiff, and turned to leave the room. He made it half a step, when he felt a tug on his shirt. Derek stilled and looked over his shoulder, eyebrow raised, and saw Stiles looking back at him, half of his face tucked into the pillowcase,

“Go back to sleep, Stiles.”

“Mm, where you going?”

“I’m going to sleep. On the couch.” 

Stiles let go of Derek’s shirt and rolled over, on to his back, before he sat up, “You don’t...have to do that.”

Both of Derek’s eyebrows went up, “Do you really want to sleep with me?”

“Who wouldn’t?” Stiles chuckled behind a yawn, but the grin faded at Derek’s glare and he rolled his eyes instead, “Oh. My. God.” Stiles fell back onto the bed and pulled the blankets over his head, “I don’t care if you want to sleep in your bed. I don’t have cooties, you know.”

“I also know you hate me.” He pointed out as he walked around to the other side of the bed.

Stiles snorted as he felt the bed dip on the opposite side, and rolled over on to his side, to face Derek, “I don’t _hate you_...I just hate you.”

“Because that’s make sense.” Derek laid on his side, propped up on his elbow, head resting in his hand, and yawned, “Please, elaborate.”

Stiles made a face, “Laura. She’s...Laura. And Peter. And your Dad. All of them, they’re kind of big balls of egotistical dicks. They make life difficult, they always need everything tailored to them. Laura’s the reason I was fired from my first job ever. You know that? You probably do. I heard she’d gloat to anyone about it.”

Derek frowned, he and Laura talked about their work all the time but he had never heard her mention getting anyone fired. He was sure that he would remember a conversation like that, because yes –anytime Laura had managed to get someone fired she would talk about it. For ages. “Usually...when Laura makes a scene big enough for someone to lose a job...they deserved it.”

Stiles laughed. Derek frowned deeper. When Stiles stopped, and regained his breath, he shook his head, “Yeah. No. She saw the word assistant and assumed that I was there to cater to her every fucking need. I was the makeup artists’ assistant. I was there to make sure all of his shit was where it needed to be so Laura could look as flawless as the producer wanted her to –not run around and get her coffee, or get her dry cleaning, or make sure that stupid fucking Chihuahua-gah!” Stiles rolled over, back to Derek, fuming. Derek just stared at his back, following the curve of his spine and didn’t bother to hide the fact that he was looking at Stiles’ ass under the blankets. When Stiles rolled back over, still angry, they were centimeters apart, “And then your creepy ass uncle Peter and anal-retentive father –I don’t even want to talk about them. And then you,”

“What about me, Stiles?” This wasn’t how Derek had pictured this talk going. He knew there would be yelling and a lot of trash talk against his family, but the location was a lot different. Derek had expected the blow up to happen in the studio –at least here, Stiles didn’t have an arsenal of brushes that he could use to stab Derek with.

“You are so...infuriating. You’re like the perfect mix of all the worst qualities of everyone. At first, I thought that maybe you had just been forced into some mold and had to keep up some farce to make Peter proud...but no. No, you’re just as self centered as the rest of them. You never seem to be thinking about anyone else, you do what you want –when you wah-!”

Derek cut Stiles off by leaning in and biting his lips. Stiles sputtered and waved his arms, untangling them from the sheets and placed them on Derek’s chest in an attempt to push him away, “See. See. This is exactly what I’m talking about! This primal animalistic caveman behaviour that you just think you can have whatever you want. All the Hale’s are like this!”

Derek raised an eyebrow, “Really Stiles. You’re lying in my bed, getting me worked up on purpose, and aren’t expecting anything to come out of this? I thought that was the whole idea of the outing and them ditching us at the club.”

“The whole point of the outing was to get me laid. You were an unfortunate price Erica needed to pay in order to get Jennifer to come out.”

“So you don’t want to have sex.” Derek said it like a statement but his eyebrows begged a question. Stiles sighed and eyed the model as well as he could from his current position, and shook his head,

“No – I mean yes I...ugh.” Stiles rolled on to his stomach and buried his face in the pillow, “I may have entertained the thought of sex when the night was still but a swaddling babe, but the window of opportunity has closed and it’s been turned into a goblin.”

“Was that...did you just make a vague and disturbing comparison to Labyrinth?”

Stiles pushed himself up on to his arms and stared at Derek with wide eyes, “Really, you understood that reference but everything else goes over your head?” 

Derek shrugged and picked at the blanket, “I understand most of the references you make. You just never talk to me.”

“I talk to you all the time. In fact, we’re talking right now.”

“Fact, this is the first real conversation we’ve had. You usually just bark orders and tell me to shut up so I don’t splotch the foundation.”

Stiles huffed, “Well, in my defense, all you do is grunt and set your judgemental eyebrows on me.” Derek raised one of those eyebrows and Stiles flopped back on to his stomach before turning on his side, “See. You’re doing it now. Well your eyebrows are. Judging all of my life choices past, present, and future.”

“You are...ridiculous. You know that?”

“And you sir, are an ass.”

Derek simply chuckled and moved to sit on his knees, leaning over Stiles. He braced himself with his hands on either side of the pillow that cradled Stiles’ head and ducked lower, “Takes one to know one.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “I never claimed I wasn’t.” He turned his head to look over his shoulder, their faces millimetres apart, and his eyes fell to Derek’s lips. It wasn’t like Stiles hadn’t seen them up close before. He put makeup on the man every day. Stiles knew what Derek’s lips looked like. Full and reddened from drinking, usually chapped despite the amount of lip conditioner Stiles’ used underneath any gloss. But there was something different about seeing them now and he wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe he could blame it on the alcohol even though he wasn’t drunk any more, just a little tired. The yelling, and mention of Laura, had sobered him up quite a bit. 

Taking a deep breath, Stiles wiggled a little and turned himself around so that he was lying on his back again. He moved his hands up Derek’s arms and gripped at the back of the model’s jacket, “So...”

Derek inched forward, “So?” 

Stiles shivered and tilted his head, brushing their lips together in a way that was much more pleasant than what Derek had tried earlier. Derek chuckled softly, “What happened to the window closing and all that?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “It might have closed, but I never said it was locked.”

“And hating me.”

“Hate sex can be good sex too, you know.”

Derek opened his mouth to say more but it was Stiles’ turn to cut him off with a kiss. He slotted his mouth against Derek’s with ease, moving his hands up to play at the nape of Derek’s neck and pull him closer. Derek chuckled, shifting to hold himself with his left hand, and slid his right down Stiles’ side to rest on the younger man’s hip. Stiles shuddered and pressed harder into the kiss, lifting his hips to rub against the hard lines of Derek’s body. 

Derek groaned and rocked his hips down, drinking in the moan that fell from Stiles’ lips. He slipped his hand underneath the tight t-shirt that Stiles was wearing and ran his fingers over the warm skin. Stiles broke the kiss with a squeak, earning a raised eyebrow,

“I-I’m ticklish...” he muttered against Derek’s neck as he tried to hide the blush that was creeping over his cheeks. Derek huffed out a small noise and moved his hand upwards, thumb brushing over Stiles’ nipple and electing a surprised gasp from the other man. Stiles lifted his face from Derek’s neck and nipped at the underside of his jaw, rubbing his cheek against Derek’s stubble, before leaning up for another round of heated kisses.

Stiles gripped Derek’s shirt and tilted his head back, “This...this needs...off.”

“So eloquent.” Derek teased as he sat back on his knees and pulled his shirt off. Stiles leaned up and ran his hands over the taught muscles and groaned,

“You’re so unreal...seriously, I don’t believe you exist.” His hands roamed further over the plains of Derek’s abs, up over his pecs and down his shoulders. It wasn’t the first time he had seen the model shirtless, but it was all about the circumstances. 

Derek leaned down, arms bracketed on either side of Stiles’ head, and rubbed his stubble covered cheek against Stiles’ smooth one, “Well, I do.”

“Obviously,” Stiles breathed out as their lips brushed in a ghost of a kiss, “...you’re such a fucking tease.”

“You’re still wearing clothes.” Derek pointed out as he crawled his way down Stiles’ body and tugged at the waistband of his jeans before sitting up again. Stiles took in a deep breath as Derek moved his hands under the hem of the younger man’s t-shirt and slowly started pushing it upwards. While he co-operated, Stiles crossed his arms over his chest the moment the article of clothing was tossed over the side of the bed. Derek raised an eyebrow as he gently removed Stiles’ arms and held them above his head, grip gentle around his wrists, “What are you doing?”

“Trying not to ruin this with my less than spectacular physic?”

Derek chuckled softly, tongue darting out to lick at Stiles’ collar bone, “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

Stiles shivered, back arching, mouth falling open in a loud moan, as Derek took a nipple between his teeth and gently bit down before licking over the hard nub, “This is taking too long... N-Not that it’s not...you know...ung...” Stiles lifted his hips, rocking up into Derek, rubbing their still clothed erections together. 

It seemed to be the action that got things in motion. Derek removed his right hand from Stiles’ wrists and brought it down between them, popping open the fly on Stiles’ jeans. His left hand held Stiles’ hips in place. Stiles brought his arms up and wrapped them around Derek’s shoulders, blunt nails scratching at his back, “Hurry up...”

“Pushy.” Derek nipped and sucked at the spot behind Stiles’ ear, earning a whine of a moan as a reward. 

Not being able to wait much longer, Stiles moved his hands around and undid Derek’s jeans. He pushed them down as far as he could and rolled his eyes, “Of course you’re commando.” Derek grinned and shrugged a shoulder, hand slipping into Stiles’ boxer briefs. “Fuck.” Stiles groaned, wrapping his own fingers around Derek’s leaking cock.

It was messy, uncoordinated, and a little bit too dry for Stiles’ preference. But it didn’t last long enough for either of them to really care. Working each other in the awkward angle, mouths barely pressed together as they panted and gasped into the open space, Stiles’ free hand was tangled in the small hairs at the base of Derek’s neck, while Derek’s held Stiles around the waist. A few minutes later had Stiles arching with a loud moan and coming between them, covering their chests and Derek’s hand in a string of cum. He started to slow down his ministrations on Derek as the post-orgasm haze started to cloud his mind, but he felt a strong grip cover his hand. A few more seconds and he felt the rumble against his chest as Derek growled out and bite his shoulder, their cum mixing together in a sticky mess between them.

Derek panted out a breath as he slowly collapsed on top of Stiles, thoroughly meshing them together. Stiles was too blissed out to care.

“...you’re heavy.”

Derek snorted against Stiles’ neck and moved off of him, shucking his jeans off the rest of the way as he went. Stiles sighed and shimmed out of his own jeans, but decided to keep his underwear on at the last moment. Getting under the covers he yawned softly and snuggled into the pillow, not even putting up a fight when he felt a strong arm wrap around his stomach –instead he pressed back into Derek’s chest and let sleep wash over them both.

Stiles woke up with his back too warm and his legs too cold. It also took a good three minutes, according to the bedside alarm clock, for him to get his bearings and realise that; no, he wasn’t in his own bed. He shifted and felt the brush of stubble against his shoulder. Stiles closed his eyes and slowly let out a breath as he carefully extracted himself from the mess of blanket and limbs he found himself in. Sitting up, legs hanging over the side of the bed, he looked over his shoulder at the sleeping form of one Derek Hale. One extremely naked and exposed Derek Hale. Stiles felt a churning in his stomach and he pushed off of the bed, making his way quickly and quietly for the bathroom.

After a few dry heaves that resulted in a headache, Stiles went back into the bedroom to collect his clothing. He purposefully ignored the sleeping man on the bed and tried not to think about the way the sunlight made Derek glow, or how sleep smoothed out the lines on his face and made the model look years younger –or maybe just his actual age. Shaking his head, Stiles pulled his jeans and t-shirt back on and slipped into his sneakers. He couldn’t find his jacket, but he didn’t really care. He just needed to get out of there before Derek woke up.

When the door closed, the automatic lock giving off an audible click, even from the bedroom, Derek rolled onto his side and let out a huge sigh.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops.  
> I blame life being six kinds of upside down and all around right now.
> 
> Here is a teeny-tiny chapter to pull you through until the end. The next part will be the rest of it, I promise!

Stiles paused and leaned against the hotel room door, after it locked closed behind him. Running a hand over his face, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his cell phone, gathering the courage to look through last night’s text messages. There were a couple, all marked as read, from Lydia and Isaac –and a newer one, sent a few minutes ago, from Erica saying that Jennifer was on her way back to Derek’s hotel room.

Letting out a sigh, Stiles started making his way towards the elevators. It wasn’t that he couldn’t remember what happened. He remembered Ethan, and the incident on the dance floor, and the almost protective way Derek led him towards the Camero after everyone else had left. After that was a bit of a blur, but it cleared up again around the same time one of them mentioned Laura and Derek kissed him.

Or he kissed Derek.

“On second thought, I don’t really remember much after falling asleep in the car.” Stiles huffed to himself, sidestepping on to the elevator as it dinged open and an elderly couple walked out. Glancing at the screen of his phone, he cursed under his breath. He had fifteen minutes to get to work before he was late. Since everyone decided that going to a club on a Monday night was a good idea. Stiles rubbed his face, again, going over his options as he slowly approached the lobby.

A) He could get a taxi to his apartment, most likely on the other side of the city, have a shower and put on clean clothing before breaking ninety percent of the traffic laws to get to work,

or

B) He could just take the same taxi to the studio, use the gym showers, and borrow a clean shirt from the costume department.

Stiles wrinkled his nose at both options and swiped his thumb across the screen of his phone, bringing it back to life. With a quick scroll through his contacts he pressed on Lydia's smiling face,

_U @ wrk?????_ He pressed send as he stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby. The man at the desk gave him a knowing smirk as Stiles passed by, he just gave the man a short wave.

_Yes. But I can see that you aren't._

Stiles groaned, there went the idea that maybe -just maybe- Lydia wouldn't have been in the office yet and he could have convinced her to go for breakfast. He sighed and resigned himself to his fate,

_Just woke up, bts_

Putting his phone in his pocket, Stiles hailed a cab and silently prayed to whomever cared that the lack of headache wasn't a prelude to an awful day.

xXx

When Derek pulled into the parking lot of DWS, a few hours later, he still felt awful. Even after draining three cups of coffee, he couldn’t concentrate long enough to figure out the reason why. It wasn’t like Derek had never had one night stands before, with people he knew –people he worked with and saw on a daily basis, or even people that hated him for one reason or another. But with Stiles being the person on the other side of the equation, something felt off.

Stiles’ Jeep was parked in its usual spot, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the other sports and high end cars, but Lydia’s was not. Derek sighed, wondering if maybe he should get in touch with the Argents, or call Peter back for another life evaluation. Not that he wanted to deal with one of Peter’s Told You So speeches, complete with Uncle-Knows-Best soundtrack.

Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself. He could do this. He had to work with lots of models, and assistants, after having sex with them and not calling, or sneaking out in the morning, he could do it again –and be professional about it.

No he couldn’t.

Not if the trying-not-to-judge-you-but-failing look Isaac was giving him, as they waved at each other and Derek walked towards the elevator, was anything to go by. Stiles, Derek was assuming, had probably come in and blabbed to the first person he saw. Poor, front desk worker, Isaac was the first victim. Or Stiles hds been talking with Lydia, either on his way in or back out, and Isaac had picked up enough of the conversation to draw his own conclusions.

Not that it mattered. Derek was used to rumors and being the center of gossip, too, he could handle the looks and the whispers and the-

“Way to go, stud.”

Derek blinked at Erica, who stood in front of the elevator as the doors opened, arms crossed over her chest and a grin on her lips, “What?”

“I heard Stilinski yelling to Lydia in her office a little while ago, before they left for breakfast. You’re welcome.”

Derek rolled his eyes, “I’m not thanking you for anything.” He brushed past her and made his way over to makeup station number four, and had to stop himself from just collapsing in the chair. Erica sighed and sat in the chair beside him, pulling her legs up to her chest,

“Oh come off of it. The tension between you two, since you started working here, has been so insane that it was bound to happen eventually. We just gave you a push.” 

“There was nothing to push at, Erica.” He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, the late night catching up to him, as he leaned back in the chair. Legs spread wide, as he slouched, Derek let out another sigh and draped his arm over his eyes, “And now there probably never will be.”

“But you want there to be?” Erica’s voice hitched with interest and she reached over. Grabbing Derek’s arm she peeled it back, the smug smirk of satisfaction was gone and replaced with a concerned pout, “For real, do you want there to be something to push at with Stiles?”

Derek pulled his arm back and stared at the ceiling for a minute too long, thinking over the implications of wanting something, something a bit more than an awkward one night stand, it didn’t take him as long as he thought it would for him to come to a conclusion, “I guess I do.”

“No.” Erica snapped, her thin eyebrows drawing into thin lines as she narrowed her eyes at him, “Either you do or you don’t. I know Stiles, I know how he works, he’s not going to be up for anything if you only guess that you want something.”

“Alright. Fine. Yes. Yes, I want something that will last longer than a night.” He grunted, even as he felt a weight that he hadn’t known was there lift off of his chest. Erica watched him for a moment before nodding slowly and turned in her chair,

“So...what happened last night?”

“I don’t even...know...” He trailed off and groaned in defeat at the look Erica gave him, “Why do you want to know?”

She shrugged, “I figured I’d hear your side of that worst hand-job ever story.”

Derek snorted. He wouldn’t call it the worst, but he would admit that it hadn’t been the greatest night of his sex life. Telling Erica that it wasn’t that bad seemed like it could potentially open up a can of worms that he didn’t exactly want to delve in to. Not telling her, however, seemed like it might be just as harmful to his person. Resigning in the fact that this woman, probably his closest friend within the company, now had a slight rule on his life he took a deep breath and sighed, “Alright-“

He was cut off by the sound of the elevator doors opening and familiar voices floating into the quiet room,

“Seriously, Lyds, just stay out of it...for once.”

Derek could hear the eye rolling in the woman’s voice, “Fine, but I want you to at least talk to him. Last night wasn’t exactly a happy moment for anyone.”

“Except me!” Erica hollered over as Lydia and Stiles approached the station, “Boyd and I had a lot of fun with Jen last night. God she’s-“

“La la la!” Stiles shouted over top of her, fingers plugging his ears for added effect, “No one cares about your hot threesome.”

“You’re just jealous.” She winked, ignoring the angry glare from Stiles, and stuck her tongue out at him.

“I’m surrounded by actual four year olds.” Lydia sighed. She looked over at Derek, as he made a noise of agreement, and pointed a finger at her, “You are no better. Now all of you, get to work.”

Stiles rolled his eyes when she kissed his cheek and sashayed her way back to the elevator. He turned back to face the two models sitting in the chairs, and sighed, “Who wants to go first?”

Xxx

Derek’s eyes were fixed on Stiles’ long and slender fingers as they danced around the handles of different makeup brushes before curling around one and picking it up, letting it slide into the palm of his hand. Stiles swiped his thumb over the bristles of the brush, to remove any excess powder, and Derek bit the inside of his cheek to keep down a groan.

Stiles turned to him and furrowed his eyebrows, “Stop that or the foundation will come out splotchy.”

Derek resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead he let out a grunt of acknowledgement, and sat a little straighter in his chair. Above him Stiles huffed, the sound not too far off from someone trying to keep in a laugh, and gently stroked the powder across the model’s cheekbones. The entire scene was just as ridiculous playing out as it had been when Stiles’ used it as an example the night before.

The night before.

Sitting a little straighter in his chair, Derek watched Stiles shoulders tense and relax as the slightly younger man moved about the work station. Derek had no idea what he was looking for, but he welcomed the distraction and the lack of Stiles in his personal space for the time being, “Are we not going to talk about it?”

Apparently that had been the wrong thing to say. Stiles froze, knees bent as he crouched in front of a small cabinet, back stiffening as he reached forward to pull out a small black bag, “There’s nothing to talk about.” He snapped as he stood back up and all but slammed the bag on the table. Bottles rattled and fell over, the pallet he had been using toppled off the table -landing makeup side down on the cement floor. Stiles cursed under his breath as he gently picked it up and most of the contents broke apart, remaining on the ground. 

“Seems like there is.” Derek shifted in the seat, suddenly unnerved by the amount of rage that oozed out of Stiles’ pores. 

Stiles turned to face him, brandishing a mascara brush like a lethal weapon, “No, Derek, there isn’t. Okay. You were drinking. I was drinking. Mediocre handjobs happened. That’s it. Last chapter. End of story. No sequel.”

“It didn’t sound mediocre by the noises you were making…” Derek grumbled, sliding further down in his seat. 

Stiles made a choked off noise in his throat, “Of course that’s the part of that sentence you latch on to.” Shaking his head, Stiles turned his back to the grumpy model. 

He knew he shouldn’t have come into work.


End file.
